LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



00Q1707[Hb4 




Class 
Book. 



BiM 



PRESENTED BY 



tlbaj 



t 

THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



THOMAS CAMPBELL. 



INCLUDING 



Several Pieces from the Original Manuscript, never 
before published in this country. 



To which is prefixed 

A BIOGRAPHICAL. SKETCH OF THE. AUTHOR. 

BY A GENTLEMAN OF NEW- YORK. 



PRINTED FOR PHILIP H. N1CKL1N& Co., BALTIMORE 

Also, for D. W. Farrand and Green, Albany; D. Mallory and Co. 

Boston; Lyman and Hall, Portland; and E, Earle, 

Philadelphia. 

Fry and Kammerer, Printers. 

1810. 



Pf^<q.^4-jn 



II O 



<h 












CONTENTS. 

Pag, 

Biographical Sketch of the Author 7 

Pleasures of Hope, part I . 47 

part II 81 

Notes on part I , 1G3 

part II 110 

Gertrude of Wyoming, part 1 119 

, part II 137 

part III 153 

Notes on part I , 173 

part III 193 

O'Connor's Child, or the Flower of Love lies bleeding . 203 

Notes on O'Connor's Child 217 

Lochiel's Warning- , 229 

Notes on Lochiel's Warning 235 

Specimens of Translation from Medea 243 

Speech of the Chorus in the same Tragedy 245 

Love and Madness, an Elegy 251 

The Wounded Hussar 253 

Gilderoy 257 

The Harper 260 

Song 261 

The Beech Tree's Petition . 262 

Hohenlinden 264 

Ye Manners of England, a Naval Ode 266 

Glenara 269 

Battle of the Baltic, . . , . 271 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Lord UHin's Daughter 275 

Lines on the Grave of a Suicide 278 

Ode to Winter 280 

The Soldier's Dream 284 

The Turkish Lady 286 

Exile of Erin 289 

Lines written at the request of the Highland Society in 
London, when met to commemorate the 21st of March, 

the day of victory in Egypt 292 

Lines written on visiting a scene in Argyleshire ..... 295 



A 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



OF 



THOMAS CAMPBELL, 



AUTHOR OF 

THE PLEASURES OF HOPE, GERTRUDE OF WYOMING, 
LOCHIEL'S WARNING, &c. &c. &c. 



A 2 



District of Pennsylvania, to wit: 

****** BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the sixteenth day of 
* Seal. * August, in the thirty fifth year of the Independence of 
****** the u » itea " States of America, A.-D. 1810, William P. 
Farrand and Co., of the said district, have deposited ia 
this office the title of a hook, the right whereof they claim as propri- 
etors in the words following, to wit: 

" A Biographical Sketch of Thomas Campbell, author of the 
Pleasures of Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming, Lochiel's Warn- 
ing, &c. &c. &c." 

In conformity to the act of the congress of the United States* 
intituled, "An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the 
copies of maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of 
such copies, during the times therein mentioned. 35 And also to the 
act, entitled " An act supplementary to an act, entitled " An act for 
the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, 
charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, 
during the time therein mentioned," and extending the benefits 
thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and 
other prints," 

D. CALDWELL, 
Clerk of the District of Pennsylvania. . 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



OF THE 

AUTHOR. 

IT has long been admitted as a lamentable truth, 
that authors seldom receive impartial justice from the 
world, while living The grave seems to be the ordeal 
to which in a manner their names must be subjected, 
and from whence, if worthy of immortality, they rise 
with pure and imperishable lustre. Here many, who 
through the caprice of fashion, the influence of rank 
and fortune, or the panegyrics of friends, have en- 
joyed an undeserved notoriety, descend into oblivion, 
and it may literally be said a they rest from their 
labours, and their works do follow them." Here 
likewise many an illstarred author, after struggling 
with penury and neglect, and starving through a 
world he has enriched by his talents, sinks to rest? 



8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

and becomes an object of universal admiration and 
regret. The sneers of the cynical, the detractions of 
the envious, the scoffings of the ignorant, are silenced 
at the hallowed precincts of the tomb; and the world 
awakens to a sense of his value, when he is removed 
beyond its patronage for ever. Monuments are erected 
to his memory, books are written in his praise, and 
mankind will devour with avidity the biography of a 
man, whose life was passed unheeded before their 
eyes. He is like some canonized saint, at whose 
shrine treasures are lavished and clouds of incense 
offered up, though while living the slow hand of 
charity withheld the pittance that would have relieved 
his necessities. 

But this tardiness in awarding merit its due, this 
preference continually shown to departed authors, 
Over living ones of perhaps superior excellence, may 
be ascribed to more charitable motives than those of 
envy and illnature. Of the former we judge almost 
exclusively by their works. We form our opinion of 
the whole flow of their minds and the tenor of their 
dispositions from the volumes they have left behind; 
without considering that these are like so many mas- 
terly portraits, presenting their genius in its most 
auspicious moments, and npblest attitudes, when its 
pow r ers were collected by solitude and refiectioa, 



OF THE AUTHOR. 9 

assisted by study, stimulated by ambition and elevated 
by inspiration. We witness nothing of the mental 
exhaustion and languor which follow these gushes of 
genius. We behold the stream only in the spring- 
tide of its current, and conclude that it has always 
been equally profound in its depth, pure in its wave, 
and majestic in its course. 

Living authors, on the contrary, are continually in 
public view, and exposed to the full glare of scruti- 
nizing familiarity. Though we may occasionally 
wonder at their eagle soarings, yet we soon behold 
them descend to our own level, and often sink below 
it. Their habits of seclusion makes them less easy 
and engaging in society than the mere man of fashion, 
whose only study is to please. Their ignorance of the 
common topics of the day, and of matters of business, 
frequently makes them inferior in conversation to 
men of ordinary capacities, while the constitutional 
delicacy of their minds and irritability of their feel- 
ings, make them prone to more than ordinary ca- 
prices. At one time solitary and unsocial, at another 
listless and petulant, often trifling among the frivo- 
lous, and not unfrequently the dullest among the 
dull. All these circumstances tend to diminish our 
respect and admiration of their mental excellence, 
and show clearly, that authors, like actors, to ba 



10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

impartially criticized, should never be known behind 
the scenes. 

Such are a few of the causes that operate in Europe 
to defraud an author of the candid judgment of his 
countrymen, but their influence does not extend to 
this side of the Atlantic. We are placed, in some 
degree, in the situation of posterity. The vast ocean 
that rolls between us, like a space of rime, removes 
us beyond the sphere of personal favour, personal 
prejudice, or personal familiarity. An European work, 
therefore, appears before us depending simply on its 
intrinsic merits. We have no private friendship nor 
party purpose to serve by magnifying the author'* 
merits, and in sober sadness the humble state of our 
national literature places us far below any feeling of 
national rivalship. 

But while our local situation thus enables us to 
exercise the enviable impartiality of posterity, it is 
evident we must share likewise in one of its disadvan- 
tages. We are in as complete ignorance respecting 
the biography of most living authors of celebrity, as 
though they had existed ages before our time, and 
indeed are better informed concerning the character 
and lives of authors who have long since passed away, 
than of those who are actually adding to the stores of 
European literature, Few think of writing the anec- 



OF THE AUTHOR. 1 i 

dotes of a distinguished character while living. His 
intimates, who of course are most capable, are pre- 
vented by their very intimacy, little thinking that 
those domestic habits and peculiarities, which an 
every day's acquaintance has made so trite and fami- 
liar to themselves, can be objects of curiosity to all 
the world besides. Thus then we, who are too distant 
to gather those particulars concerning foreign au- 
thors, that are circulated from mouth to mouth in 
their native countries, must content ourselves to 
remain in almost utter ignorance; unless perchance 
some friendly magazine now and then gives us a 
meagre and apocryphal account of them, which rather 
provokes than satisfies our curiosity. A proof of these 
assertions will be furnished in the following sketch, 
which, unsatisfactory as it is, contains all the infor- 
mation we can collect, concerning a British poet, of 
rare and exquisite endowments. 

Thomas Campbell was born at Glasgow, on the 
27th of September 1777. He is the youngest son of 
- Mr. Alexander Campbell, late merchant of Glasgow; 
a gentleman of the most unblemished integrity and 
amiable manners, who united the scholar and the man 
of business, and amidst the corroding cares and 
sordid habits of trade, cherished a liberal and enthu- 
siastic love of literature. He died at a verv advanced 



X2 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

age, in the spring of 1801, and the event is mentioned 
in the Edinburgh magazine, with high encomiums on 
his moral and religious character. 

It may not be uninteresting to the American reader 
to know that Mr. Campbell, the poet, has very near 
connexions in this country, and indeed to this circum- 
stance may be in some measure attributed the liberal 
sentiments he has frequently expressed concerning 
America. His father resided for many years of his 
youth at Falmouth in Virginia, but returned to Eu- 
rope about fifty years since. His uncle, who had ac- 
compeoiied his father, settled permanently in Virginia, 
where his family has uniformly maintained a highly 
respectable character. One of his sons w 7 as district 
attorney under the administration of Washington, and 
died in 1795. He is still remembered and extolled by 
the Virginians as a man of rare and uncommon elo- 
quence. Robert Campbell also, a brother of the poet, 
settled in Virginia, where he married a daughter of 
the celebrated Patrick Henry. He died about two 
years since. 

The genius of Mr. Campbell showed itself almost 
in his infancy. At the age of seven lie possessed a 
vivacity of imagination and a vigour of mind, surpris- 
ing in such early youth. A strong inclination for 
poetry was already discernible in him, and indeed it 



OF THE AUTHOR. 13 

was not more than two years after this that we are 
told " he began to try his wings." These bright dawn- 
ings of intellect, united to uncommon personal beauty, 
a winning gentleness and modesty of manners, and a 
generous sensibility of heart, made him an object of 
universal favour and admiration. 

There is scarcely any obstacle more fatal to the full 
development and useful application of talent than an 
early display of genius. The extravagant caresses 
lavished upon it by the light and injudicious, are too 
apt to beget a self-confidence in the possessor, and 
render him impatient of the painful discipline of 
study; without which genius at best is irregular, un- 
governable, and ofttimes splendidly erroneous. He 
shines for awhile in that period of youth, when error 
is excused by inexperience, and when we look for 
talents rather than knowledge— but the ignorance that 
is pardonable in youth is contemptible in manhood? 
and insupportable in age. Thus the world first seduces 
him from the thorny path of instruction, intoxicates 
him by its adulation, and having thus entailed igno- 
rance and conceit upon him for ever, abandons him in 
disappointment at his not realizing those expectations, 
which its own blandishments have incapacitated him 

to satisfv. 

B 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Perhaps there is no country in the world where 
this error is less frequent than in Scotland. The 
Scotch are a philosophical, close thinking people. 
Wary and distrustful of external appearances and first 
impressions, stern examiners into the utility of 
things, and cautious in dealing out the dole of ap- 
plause, their admiration follows tardily in the rear 
of their judgment, and even when they admire, they 
do it with peculiar rigidity of muscle. It is not the 
exclamation of " lo here a./irofihet! and there a/zro- 
fihet!" or " here a genius! and there a genius!" that 
can throw them into those universal paroxysms of 
delight and infatuation, which often prevail in other 
parts of the united kingdom. This spirit of rigorous 
rationality is peculiarly evident in the management 
of youthful genius; which, instead of meeting with 
enervating indulgence, is treated with a Spartan 
severity of education, tasked to the utmost extent of 
its powers, and made to undergo a long and laborious 
probation, before it is permitted to emerge into noto- 
riety. The consequence is, an uncommon degree of 
skill and vigour in their writers. They are rendered 
diligent by constant habits of study, powerful by 
science, graceful by the elegant accomplishments of 
the scholar, and prompt and adroit in the manage- 
ment of their talents, by the frequent contests and 



OF THE AUTHOR. 15 

exercises of the schools. By these means they have 
acquired their preeminent rank in the literary world* 
over which they exercise a severe but salutary sway; 
acting as guardians of public morals, promoters of 
useful knowledge, and austere censors of the press* 
From the foregoing observations may be gathered 
;he kind of system adopted with respect to young 
Campbell. His early display of genius, instead of 
making him the transient wonder of the drawing 
room, and the enfant gate of the teatable, consigned 
him to the rigid discipline of the academy. At the 
age of seven he commenced the study of the Latin 
language under the care of the rev. David Alison, a 
teacher of distinguished reputation in Scotland. At 
twelve he entered the university of Glasgow, and in 
the following year gained a bursary on bishop Leigh- 
ton's foundation, for a translation of one of the 
comedies of Aristophanes, which he executed in 
verse. This triumph was the more honourable, from 
being gained, after a hard contest, over a rival candi- 
date of nearly twice his age, who was considered one 
of the best Latin scholars in the university. His se- 
cond prize-exercise, was the translation of a tragedy 
of iEschylus, likewise in verse, which he gained 
without opposition, as none of the students would 
enter the lists with hrm, Ke continued seven years in 



15 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

the university, during which time his talents and 
application were testified by yearly academical prizes. 
He was particularly successful in his translations 
from the Greek, In which language he took great 
delight; and on receiving his last prize for one of 
these performances, the Greek professor publicly 
pronounced it the best that had ever been produced 
in the university. 

Moral philosophy was likewise a favourite study 
with Mr. Campbell, and indeed he applied himself to 
gain an intimate acquaintance with the whole circle of 
sciences. But though, in the prosecution of his stu- 
dies, he attended the academical courses both of law 
and physic, it was merely as objects of curiosity, and 
branches of general knowledge, for he never devoted 
himself to any particular study with a view to prepare 
himself for a profession. On the contrary, his literary 
passion was already so strong, that he could never for 
a moment endure the idea of confining himself to the 
dull round of business, or engaging in the absorbing 
pursuits of common life. 

In this he was most probably confirmed by the indul- 
gence of a fond father, whose ardent love of literature 
made him regard the promising talents of his son with 
pride and sanguine anticipation. At one time, it is true, 
a part of his family expressed a wrsh that he should 



OF THE AUTHOR. 17 

be fitted for the church, but this was completely over- 
ruled by the rest, and he was left, without further 
opposition, to the impulse of his own genius, and the 
seductions of the muse. 

After leaving the university he passed some time 
among the mountains of Argyleshire, at the seat of 
colonel Napier, a descendant of Napier Baron Mer- 
chiston, the celebrated inventor of logarithms. It is 
probable that from this gentleman he first imbibed his 
taste and knowledge of the military art, traces of which 
are to be seen throughout his poems. From Argyle- 
shire he went to Edinburgh, where the reputation he 
had acquired at the university gained him a favoura- 
ble reception into the distinguished circle of science 
and literature, for which that city is renowned. Among 
others he was particularly honoured by the notice of 
professors Stewart and PI ay fair. Nothing could be 
more advantageous for a youthful poet, than to com- 
mence his career under such auspices. To the ardour 
and elevation of mind awakened by the society of such 
celebrated men, may we ascribe, in a great measure, 
the philosophic spirit, and moral sublimity displayed 
in his first production, the Pleasures of Hope, which 
was written during his residence at Edinburgh. He 
was not more than twenty when he wrote this justly 
celebrated poem, and it was published in the following 
year. B 2 



13 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

The popularity of this work at once introduced the 
author to the notice and patronage of the first people 
Gf Great Britain. At first, indeed, it promised but little 
pecuniary advantage, as he unfortunately disposed of 
the copyright for an inconsiderable sum. This, how- 
ever, was in some measure remedied by the liberality 
of his publisher. The race of booksellers, who, like 
" dull weeds" have thrived and fattened, since time 
immemorial, on the banks of Helicon, have notwith- 
standing much reformed in these latter days. They 
still grow wealthy and wax fat, it is true, but authors 
ilo not as uniformly starve: so that while the former 
make immense profits for the extreme trouble of 
selling a book, the author is generously allowed a 
tolerable recompense, in addition to the great pleasure 
of writing it. It was Mr. Campbeirs good luck to 
encounter some bookseller of this conscientious class, 
who finding that his book ran through two editions in 
the course of a few months, permitted him to publish 
a splendid edition for himself, by which means he was 
enabled, in some measure, to participate in the golden 
harvest of his labours. 

About this time the passion for German literature 
raged in all its violence in Great Britain, and the 
literary world was completely infatuated by the bril- 
liant absurdities of the German muse. The English 



OF THE AUTHOR. 19 

are in literature what the Israelites of yore were in 
religion, a wayward, erring race, ever ready to stray 
from the paths of truth, and follow after strange idols 
and monstrous doctrines. To no nation has the clear 
light of reason been more abundantly imparted, to none 
have the immutable laws of criticism been more fully 
expounded and exemplified, nor does any nation pos- 
sess libraries so replete with every thing that can 
instruct the understanding, delight the fancy and gra- 
tify the taste; yet no nation is more prone to turn from 
this wholesome aliment of the mind, this " manna 
" sent down from heaven," and languish after foreign 
and pernicious crudities. 

The universal enthusiasm with which this new 
species of literature was admired, awakened in the 
inquiring mind of our author a desire of studying it 
at the fountain head. This, added to his curiosity to 
visit foreign parts, induced him to embark for Ger- 
many in the year 1800. He had originally fixed upon 
the college of Jena for his first piace of residence, but 
on arriving at Hamburgh he found, by the public 
prints, that a victory had beer by the French 

near Ulm, and that Munic! :art of Bavaria 

were the theatre of an ar. " One mo- 

ment's sensation," he ob* ;er to a relation 

in this country, "the s seeing human 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

nature exhibited in its most dreadful attitude, over- 
turned my past decisions. I got down to the seat of 
war some weeks before the summer armistice of 1 800, 
and indulged in, what you will call, the criminal curi- 
osity of witnessing blood and desolation. Never shall 
time efface from my memory the recollection of that 
hour of astonishment and suspended breath, when I 
stood with the good monks of St. Jacob, to overlook 
a charge of Klenaw's cavalry upon the French under 
Grennier, encamped below us. We saw the fire given 
and returned, and heard distinctly the sound of the 
French pas de charge, collecting the lines to attack in 
close column. After three hours' awaiting the issue 
of a severe action, a park of artillery was opened just 
beneath the walls of the monastery, and several wag- 
oners, that were stationed to convey the wounded in 
spring wagons, were killed in our sight. My love of 
novelty now gave way to personal fears. I took a car- 
riage in company with an Austrian surgeon back to 
Landshut," &x. This awful spectacle he has described, 
with all the poet's fire, in his Battle of Hohenlinden; 
a poem which perhaps contains more grandeur and 
martial sublimity, than is to be found any where else* 
in the same compass of English poetry. 

From Landshut Mr. Campbell proceeded to Ratis- 
bon, where he was tit the time it was taken possession 



OF THE AUTHOR. 21 

of by the French, and expected as an Englishman to 
be made prisoner; but he observes " Moreau's army 
was under such excellent discipline, and the behaviour 
both of officers and men so civil, that I soon mixed 
among them without hesitation, and formed many 
agreeable acquaintances at the messes of their bri- 
gade stationed in town, to which their chef de bri- 
gade often invited me. This worthy man, colonel Le 
Fort, whose kindness I shall ever remember with 
gratitude, gave me a protection to pass through the 
whole army of Moreau." 

After this he visited different parts of Germany, in 
the course of which he paid one of the casual taxes 
on travelling; being plundered among the Tyrolese 
mountains, by a scoundrel croat, of his clothes, his 
books, and thirty ducats in gold. About midwinter he 
returned to Hamburgh, where he remained four 
months, in the expectation of accompanying a young 
gentleman of Edinburgh in a tour to Constantinople. 
His unceasing thirst for knowledge, and his habits of 
industrious application, prevented these months from 
passing heavily or unprofitably. " My time at Ham- 
burgh," he observes, in one of his letters, " was 
chiefly employed in reading German, and, I am almost 
ashamed to confess it, for twelve successive weeks in 
the study of Kant's Philosophy. I had heard so much 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

of it in Germany, its language was so new to me, and 
the possibility of its application to so many purposes 
in the different theories of science and belles-lettres 
was so constantly maintained, that I began to suspect 
Kant might be another Bacon, and blamed myself for 
not perceiving his merit. Distrusting my own imper- 
fect acquaintance with German, I took a disciple of 
Kant's for a guide through his philosophy, but found, 
even with all this fair filcty, nothing to reward my 
labour. His metaphysics are mere innovations upon 
the received meaning of words, and the coinage of 
new ones convey no more instruction than the distinc- 
tion of Dun Scotus and Thomas Aquinas. In belles- 
lettres the German language opens a richer field than 
in their philosophy. I cannot conceive a more perfect 
poet than their favourite Wieland." 

While in Germany an edition of his Pleasures of 
Hope was proposed for publication in Vienna, but was 
forbidden by the court, in consequence of those pas- 
sages which relate to Kosciusko, and the partition of 
Poland, Being disappointed in his projected visit to 
Constantinople, he returned to England in 1801, after 
nearly a year's absence, which had been passed much 
to his satisfaction and improvement, and had stored 
his mind with grand and awful images. " I remem- 
ber" says he, " how little I valued the art of painting 



OF THE AUTHOR. Jg 

before I got into the heart of such impressive scenes; 
but in Germany I would have given any thing to have 
possessed an art capable of conveying ideas inaccessi- 
ble to speech and writing. Some particular scenes 
were indeed rather overcharged with that degree of 
the terrific w r hich oversteps the sublime, and I own 
my flesh yet creeps at the recollection of spring wag- 
ons and hospitals — but the sight of Ingolstadt in 
ruins, or Hohenlinden covered with fire, seven miles 
in circumference, were spectacles never to be for- 
gotten." 

On returning to England he visited London, for the 
first time, where, though unprovided with a single 
letter of introduction, the celebrity of his writings 
procured him the immediate notice and attentions of 
ihe best society. The following brief sketch which he 
gives of a literary club, in London, will be gratifying 
to those who have felt an interest in the anecdotes of 
Addison and his knot of beaux esfirits at Button's 
coffeehouse, and Johnson and his learned fraternity 
at the Turks head. — " Mackintosh, the Vindicise 
Gallicae was particularly attentive to me, and took me 
with him to his convivial parties at the King of Clubs, 
a place dedicated to the meetings of the reigning wits 
of London, and, in fact, a lineal descendant of the 
Johnson, Burke and Goldsmith society? constituted 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

for literary conversations. The dining table of these 
knights of literature was an arena of very keen con- 
versational rivalship, maintained, to be sure, with 
perfect goodnature, but in which the gladiators con- 
tended as hardly as ever the French and Austrians in 
the scenes I had just witnessed. Much, however, as 
the wit and erudition of these men pleases an auditor 
at the first or second visit, this trial of minds becomes 
at last fatiguing, because it is unnatural and unsatis- 
factory. Every one of these brilliants goes there to 
shine; for conversational powers are so much the rage 
in London, that no reputation is higher than his who 
exhibits them. Where every one tries to instruct 
there is in fact but little instruction: wit, paradox, 
eccentricity, even absurdity, if delivered rapidly and 
facetiously, takes priority in these societies of sound 
reasoning and delicate taste. I have watched some- 
times the devious tide of conversation, guided by acci- 
dental associations, turning from topic to topic and 
satisfactory upon none. What has one learned? has 
been my general question. The mind, it is true, is 
electrified and quickened, and the spirits finely exhila- 
rated, but one grand fault pervades the whole institu- 
tion; their inquiries are desultory, and all improve- 
ment to be reaped must be accidental." 

These sentiments will perhaps surprise and disap- 



of tup: AUTHOR. 25 

point the generality of readers, who will naturally 
suppose, that an association of men of quick parts and 
congenial tastes must be productive of the most re- 
fined and unalloyed pleasure. But in fact, conversa- 
tion, to be truly agreeable, requires that the parties 
should be severally at their ease, less ambitious to 
please than willing to be pleased. Now, in a circle 
where the members have each a character for wit and 
learning to sustain, and their merits are nearly on a 
par, there will inevitably be a spirit of jealousy and 
rivalship among them. If one is lucky enough to 
make a successful sally, his neighbour, instead of cor- 
dially enjoying it, is tasking his invention to produce 
something better; considering it as a partial eclipse 
of his own lustre, which his credit requites him to 
outshine. Thus every man is constantly on the alert; 
anxious to excel, fearful of being surpassed; the brain 
is condemned to restless activity, while the social feel- 
ings of the heart lie almost entirely dormant. Conver- 
sation, instead of taking an easy and natural flow, and 
winding like a refreshing stream, through the mazes 
of science and literature, is constantly directed out of 
its coarse and forced into capricious turns and unna- 
tural jets-d'eau of great show but little utility. The 
mind becomes fatigued by constant flashes of wit, 
which dazzle rather than delight; and we grow weary 



26 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

of a conversation where there is nothing solid to 
gratify the understanding, and where the incessant 
poignancy almost sets the teeth on edge. Indeed, 
these keen encounters cannot but prove fatiguing to 
the parties themselves; no one, however expert at 
attack and defence, would ever choose to remain long 
with associates in whose company he must always have 
his weapons in his hands. 

The friendship of Mrs. Siddons was another acqui- 
sition, of which Mr. Campbell spoke with great plea- 
sure; and what rendered it more gratifying was its 
being unsought for. It was the means of introducing 
him to much excellent society in London. " The 
character of that great woman" he observes, " is but 
little understood, and more misrepresented than any 
living character I know, by those who envy her repu- 
tation, or by those of the aristocracy, whom her irre- 
sistible dignity obliges to pay their homage at a 
respectful distance. The reserve of her demeanour 
is banished towards those who show neither meanness 
in flattering her, nor forwardness in approaching her 
too familiarly. The friends of her fireside are only 
such as she talks to and talks of with affection and 
respect." 

The recent visit of Mr. Campbell to the continent 
had increased rather than gratified his desire to travel. 



OF THE AUTHOR. 27 

He now contemplated another tour, for the purpose of 
improving himself in the knowledge of foreign lan- 
guages and foreign manners, in the course of which 
he intended to visit Italy and pass some time at Rome. 
From this plan he was diverted, most probably by an 
attachment he formed to a Miss Sinclair, a distant 
relation, whom he married in 1803. This change in 
his situation naturally put an end to all his wandering 
propensities, and he removed to Sydenham in Kent, 
near London, where he has ever since resided, devo- 
ting himself to literature, and the calm pleasures of 
domestic life. 

He has been enabled to indulge his love of study 
and retirement more comfortably by the bounty of his 
sovereign, who about three years since presented him 
with an annuity of 200/. This distinguished mark of 
royal favour, so gratifying to the pride of the poet, 
and the loyal affections of the subject, was wholly 
spontaneous and unconditional. It was neither granted 
to the importunities of friends at court, nor given as a 
douceur to secure the services of the author's pen, 
but merely as a testimony of royal approbation of his 
popular poem the Pleasures of Hope. Mr. Campbell, 
both before and since, has uniformly been independent 
in his opinions and writings. In his politics he ranks 
with the constitutional whigs, a party little known in 



28 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

this country, for it has neither power, magnitude, 
nor turbulence sufficient to make much noise even in 
Great Britain. It is composed of moderate men, lovers 
of liberty and order, and sincerely attached to their 
country and its constitution. This party holds a middle 
stand between the two great ones, the friends of the 
court and the democrats; who are distracting Great 
Britain by their dissensions. If any thing, it leans a 
little, in the present crisis of affairs, towards the 
popular side. This explanation of Mr. Campbell's 
political sentiments may serve to obviate the stigma 
of court hireling, too readily applied to such as expe- 
rience the favours of the crown. 

Though withdrawn from the busy world, in his re- 
tirement at Sydenham, yet the genius of Mr. Camp- 
bell, like a true brilliant, occasionally flashed upon the 
public eye, in a number of exquisite little poems, 
which appeared in the periodical works of the day. 
Many of these he has never thought proper to rescue 
from their perishable repositories. But of those which 
he has formally acknowledged and republished, Ho* 
henlinden, Lochiel, the Mariners of England and the 
Battle of the Baltic are sufficient of themselves, were 
other evidence wanting, to establish his title to the 
sacred name of Poet. The two lastmentioned poems 
we consider as two of the noblest national songs we 



OF THE AUTHOR. 29 

have ever seen. They contain sublime imagery and lofty 
sentiments, delivered with a " gallant swelling spirit," 
but totally free from that hyperbole and national rodo- 
montade which generally disgrace this species of poe- 
try. In the beginning of 1809, he published his second 
volume of poems, containing Gertrude of Wyoming 
and several smaller effusions, since which time he 
has produced nothing of consequence, excepting the 
uncommonly spirited and affecting little tale of 
" O'Connei's Child, or Love lies bleeding, 55 published 
in the following collection. 

Of the familiar habits and personal peculiarities of 
Mr. Campbell, which constitute the kind of informa- 
tion most sought after by the admirers of an author, 
we know but little. He is represented as being ex- 
tremely studious, but at the same time social and 
lively in his disposition, highly prepossessing in his 
appearance and of engaging and courteous manners. 
His circle of acquaintance is of the most polished and 
enlightened kind, and in this his great colloquial 
powers and a peculiar talent for recitation, make him 
a distinguished favourite. In domestic life he appears 
to no less advantage; a kind husband, a tender parent, 
and an affectionate son; in a word, few men, who have 

been brought up in studious and literary seclusion, 
C 2 



30 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

unite to such brilliant endowments, such gentle and 
endearing qualities of the heart. 

That Mr. Campbell has by any means attained to 
the ^summit of his fame, we cannot suffer ourselves 
for a moment to believe. We rather look upon the 
works he has already produced, as specimens of pure 
and virgin gold, which betray the riches of a mine, 
whose treasures are yet to be explored. It is true, the 
very reputation Mr. Campbell has acquired, may 
operate as a disadvantage to his future efforts. Public 
expectation is a pitiless taskmaster, and exorbitant 
in its demands. He who has once awakened it, must go 
on in a progressive ratio, surpassing what he has 
hitherto done, or the public will be disappointed* 
Under such circumstances an author of common sen- 
sibility, takes up his pen with fear and trembling. A 
consciousness that much is expected from him, de- 
prives him of that ease of mind and boldness of imagi- 
nation, which are necessary to fine writing, and he 
too often fails, from a too great anxiety to excel. He 
is like some youthful soldier, who having distin- 
guished himself by a gallant and brilliant achievement,, 
is ever afterwards fearful of entering on a new enter- 
prise, lest he should tarnish the laurels he has won. 

We are satisfied that Mr. Campbell feels this very 
diffidence and solicitude from the uncommon pains he 



0F THE AUTHOR. 31 

bestows upon his writings. These are scrupu- 
lously revised, modelled, and retouched over and over, 
before they are suffered to go out of his hands, and 
even then, are slowly and reluctantly yielded up to 
the press. This elaborate care may at times be carried 
to an excess, so as to produce a fastidiousness of style, 
and an air of too much art and labour. It occasionally 
imparts to the muse the precise demeanour and 
studied attire of the prude, rather than the negligent 
and bewitching graces of the woodland nymph. A too 
minute attention to finishing is likewise injurious to 
the force and sublimity of a poem. The vivid images 
which are struck off, at a single heat, in those glowing 
moments of inspiration, " when the soul is lifted to 
heaven," are too often softened down, and cautiously 
tamed, in the cold hour of correction. 

But though this scrupulous spirit of revision, may 
chance to refine away some of the bold touches of 
his pencil, and even to injure some of its negligent 
graces, it is not without its eminent advantages. 
While it tends to produce a terseness of language 
and a remarkable delicacy and sweetness of versifica- 
tion, it enables him likewise to impart to his produc- 
tions a vigorous conciseness of style, a graphical cor- 
rectness of imagery, and a philosophical condensation 
of idea, rarely found in the popular poets of the day. 



32 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Facility of writing seems to have been the bane of 
many modern poets, who too generally indulge in a 
ready and abundant versification, which like a flower- 
ing vine overruns their subject, and expands through 
many a weedy page. In fact most of them seem to 
have mistaken carelessness for ease, and redundance 
for luxuriance: they never take pains to condense and 
invigorate. Hence we have those profuse and loosely 
written poems, wherein the writers, either too feeble 
or too careless to seize at once upon their subject, 
prefer giving it a chace, and like true huntsmen pur- 
sue it through a labyrinth of verses, until it is fairly 
run down and overpowered by a multitude of words. 

Great therefore as are the intrinsic merits of Mr. 
Campbell, we are led to estimate them the more 
highly, when we consider them as beaming forth, 
like the pure lights of heaven, among the meteor ex- 
halations and false fires, with which our literary 
atmosphere abounds. In an age when we are over- 
whelmed by an abundance of eccentric poetry, and 
when we are confounded by a host of ingenious poets 
of vitiated tastes and frantic fancies, it is really 
charming and consolatory to behold a writer of Mr. 
Campbell's genius, studiously attentive to please, 
according to the established laws of criticism, as all 
our good old orthodox writers have pleased before; 



OF THE AUTHOR. 33 

without setting up a standard, and endeavouring to 
establish a new sect, and inculcate some new and 
lawless doctrine of his own. 

Before concluding this sketch, we cannot help 
pointing to one circumstance, which we confess has 
awakened a feeling of goodwill towards Mr. Campbell; 
thoughin mentioning it we shall do little more, perhaps, 
than betray our own national egotism. He is, we be- 
lieve, the only British poet of eminence that has laid 
the story of a considerable poem, in the bosom of our 
Gountry. We allude to his Gertrude of Wyoming, 
which describes the pastoral simplicity and innocence, 
and the subsequent woes of one of our little patri- 
archal hamlets, during the troubles of our revolution. 

We have so long been accustomed to experience 
little else than contumely, misrepresentation, and very 
witless ridicule from the British press; and we have 
had such repeated proofs of the extreme ignorance and 
absurd errors that prevail in Great Britain respecting 
our country and its inhabitants, that we confess, we 
were both surprised and gratified to meet with a poet* 
sufficiently unprejudiced to conceive an idea of moral 
excellence and natural beauty on this side of the At- 
lantic. Indeed even this simple show of liberality has 
drawn on the poet the censures and revilings of a host 
of narrowminded writers, with whom liberality to this 



34 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

country is a crime. We are sorry to see such pitiful 
manifestations of hostility towards us. Indeed we 
must say, that we consider the constant acrimony 
and traduction indulged in by the British press, to- 
wards this country, to be as opposite to the interest as 
it is derogatory to the candour and magnanimity of 
the nation. It is operating to widen the difference be- 
tween two nations, which, if left to the impulse of 
their own feelings, would naturally grow together, 
and among the sad changes of this disastrous world, 
be mutual supports and comforts to each other. 

Whatever may be the occasional collisions of eti- 
quette and interest which will inevitably take place, 
between two great commercial nations, whose pro- 
perty and people are spread far and w r ide on the face 
of the ocean; whatever may be the clamorous ex- 
pressions of hostility vented at such times by our 
unreflecting populace, or rather uttered in their name 
by a host of hireling scribblers, who pretend to speak 
the seutiments of the people; it is certain, that the 
\velleducated and wellinformed class of our citizens 
entertain a deeprooted goodwill and a rational 
esteem for Great Britain. It is almost impossible it 
should be otherwise. Independent of those hereditary 
affections, which spring up spontaneously for the 
nation from whence we have descended, the single 



OF THE AUTHOR. 35 

circumstance of imbibing our ideas from the same 
authors has a powerful effect in causing an attach- 
ment. 

The writers of Great Britain are the adopted citi- 
zens of our country, and, though they have no legis- 
lative voice, exercise an authority over our opinions 
and affections, cherished by long habit and matured 
by affection. In these works we have British valour, 
British magnanimity, British might, and British wis- 
dom continually before our eyes, portrayed in the most 
captivating colours; and are thus brought up, in con- 
stant contemplation of all that is amiable and illustrious 
in the British character. To these works likewise we 
resort, in every varying mood of mind, or vicissitude 
of fortune. They are our delight in the hour of relax- 
ation; the solemn monitors and instructors of our 
closet; our comforters in the gloomy seclusions of 
lifeloathing despondency. In the season of early life, 
in the strength of manhood, and still in the weakness 
and apathy of age, it is to them we are indebted for 
our hours of refined and unalloyed enjoyment. When 
we turn our eyes to England, therefore, from whence 
this bounteous tide of literature pours in upon us, it 
is with such feelings as the Egyptian, when he looks 
towards the sacred source of that stream, which, rising 



36 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

in a far distant country, flows down upon his own bar- 
ren soil, diffusing riches, beauty, and fertility. 

Surely it cannot be the interest of Great Britain to 
trifle with such feelings. Surely the goodwill, thus 
• cherished among the best hearts of a country, rapidly 
increasing in power and importance, is of too much 
consequence to be scornfully neglected or surlily 
dashed away. It most certainly therefore would be 
both politic and honourable, for those enlightened 
British writers, who sway the sceptre of criticism, to 
expose these constant misrepresentations and discoun- 
tenance these galling and unworthy insults of the pen, 
whose effect is to mislead and to irritate, without 
serving one valuable purpose. They engender gross 
prejudices in Great Britain, inimical to a proper na- 
tional understanding, while with us they wither all 
those feelings of kindness and consanguinity, that 
were shooting forth, like so many tendrils, to attach 
us to our parent country. 

While therefore we regard the poem of Mr. Camp- 
bell with complacency, as evincing an opposite spirit 
to this, of which we have just complained, there are 
other reasons likewise, which interest us in its favour. 
Among the lesser evils, incident to the infant state of 
our country, we have to lament its almost total defi- 
ciency in those local associations produced by history 



OF THE AUTHOR. 37 

and moral fiction These may appear trivial to the 
common mass of readers; but the mind of taste and 
sensibility will at once acknowledge it, as constituting 
a great source of national pride, and love of country. 
There is an inexpressible charm imparted to every 
place, that has been celebrated by the historian, or 
immortalized by the poet; a charm that dignifies it in 
the eyes of the stranger, and endears it to the heart of 
the native inhabitant. Of this romantic attraction we 
are almost entirely destitute. While every insignifi- 
cant hill and turbid stream in classic Europe has been 
hallowed by the visitations of the muse, and contem- 
plated with fond enthusiasm; our lofty mountains and 
stupendous cataracts excite no poetical feelings, and 
our majestic rivers roll their waters unheeded, because 
unsung. 

Thus circumstanced, the sweet strains of Mr. Camp- 
bell's muse break upon us as gladly as would the pas- 
toral pipe of the shepherd, amid the savage solitude 
of one of our trackless wildernesses. We are delighted 
to witness the air of captivating romance and rural 
beauty our native fields and wild woods can assume 
under the plastic pencil of a master; and while wan- 
dering with the poet among the shady groves of Wy- 
oming, or along the banks of the Susquehanna, almost 

fancy ourselves transported to the side of some classic 

D 



38 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

stream, in the " hollow breast of Appenine." This 
may assist to convince many, who were before slow to 
believe, that our own country is capable of inspiring 
the highest poetic feelings and furnishing abundance 
of poetic imagery, though destitute of the hackneyed 
materials of poetry; though its groves are not vocal 
with the song of the nightingale; though no naiads 
have ever sported in its streams, nor satyrs and dryads 
gamboled among its forests. Wherever nature — 
sweet nature — displays herself in simple beauty or 
wild magnificence, and wherever the human mind 
appears in new and striking situations, neither the 
poet nor the philosopher can ever want subjects wor- 
thy of his genius. 

Having made such particular mention of Gertrude 
of Wyoming, we will barely add one or two remarks 
on its merits. They are of a kind that commonly es- 
capes the notice of the careless, and indeed require 
an attentive perusal to be properly appreciated. The 
story is not sufficiently developed and amplified, and 
from this circumstance many have inconsiderately 
pronounced the whole a hasty sketch, without per- 
ceiving the great attention that has been paid to the 
finishing of the parts. In fact, it is mortifying to an 
author to observe, that those accomplishments which 
it has cost him the greatest pains to acquire, and which 



OF THE AUTHOR. 39 

he regards with a proud eye, as the exquisite proofs 
of his skill, are totally lost upon the generality of 
readers, who are commonly led away by those glaring 
qualities in writing to which he attaches but little va- 
lue. Most people are judges of strength, beauty, and 
activity of body, but it requires a certain refinement 
of taste and accuracy of eye, to be sensible to that 
gracefulness, which is the achievement of labour and 
the consummation of art. So in writing, the more 
glowing and powerful qualities are generally felt and 
acknowledged; but comparatively few can properly 
appreciate that modest delineation of nature, that ten- 
derness of sentiment, propriety of language, and grace- 
fulness of composition, that bespeak the polished and 
accomplished writer. Such however, as possess this 
delicacy of taste and feeling, will, we have no doubt, 
consider the Gertrude of Mr. Campbell, as an addi- 
tional proof of the variety of his talents. He has shown 
in his former works, that he possesses the power of 
firing the imagination and filling the mind with sub- 
lime and awful images, while in this he has evinced 
his skill in those tender strokes of art, by which, while 
the fancy is delighted, the heart is made better. 

We have been told that he once contemplated a 
poem, descriptive of the scenery and manners of the 
Highlands of Scotland, and that the little fragment of 



40 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 

Lochiel was one of the episodes connected with the 
original plan. Judging from that exquisite specimen, 
the highest expectations might be indulged, with re- 
gard to the rest of the work, and we earnestly hope it 
has not been abandoned. The splendid productions 
of Walter Scott have already shown what treasures of 
feudal romance, local fiction, and peculiar character, 
are to be found among the Scottish mountains, and 
how deliciously they may be interwoven into verse by 
the hand of genius. The theme selected by Mr. 
Campbell would not only be rich in the same kind of 
legendary lo^ and original description, but would 
also be calculated to light up that spirit of patriotic 
enthusiasm, which is the noblest inspirer of the poet. 
But whatever may be the subject he may choose, 
we feel confident that modern literature cannot but be 
greatly benefited by the varied powers, the amiable 
morality, and above all, the critical correctness of his 
muse. Poetry has generally flowed in an abundant 
stream in Great Britain; but it is too apt to stray 
among rocks and weeds, to expand into brawling shal- 
lows, or waste itself in turbid and ungovernable tor- 
rents. We have, however, marked a narrow, but pure 
and steady channel, continuing down from the earliest 
ages, through a line of real poets, who seem to have 
been sent from heaven to keep the vagrant stream 



OF THE AUTHOR. 41 

from running at utter waste and random. Of this cho- 
sen number we consider Mr. Campbell, and we are 
happy at having this opportunity of rendering our fee- 
ble tribute of applause to a writer whom we consider 
an ornament to the age, an honour to his country, and 
whom his country " should delight to honour." 



D2 



THE 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



PART I. 



ANALYSIS OF PART I. 

1 he Poera opens with a comparison between the beauty of re- 
mote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of felicity which 
the imagination delights to contemplate the influence of anticipa- 
tion upon the other passions is next delineated an allusion is made 

to the well known fiction in pagan tradition, that, when all the 
guardian deities of mankind abandoned the world, Hope alone was 

left behind the consolations of this passion in situations of danger 

and distress the seaman on his midnight watch the soldier 

marching into battle allusion to the interesting adventures of 

Byron. 

The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, 
whether in the department of science or of taste domestic feli- 
city, how intimately connected with views of future happiness 

picture of a mother watching her infant when asleep pictures of 

the prisoner, the maniac, and the wanderer. 

From the consolations of individual misery, a transition is made 

to prospects of political improvement in the future state of society 

the wide field that is yet open for the progress of humanizing arts 

among uncivilized nations from these views of amelioration of 

society, and the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and 
barbarous countries, by a melancholy contrast of ideas we are led 
to reflect upon the hard fate of a brave people, recently conspi- 
cuous in their struggles for independence description of the cap- 
ture of Warsaw, of the last contest of the oppressors and the 
oppressed, and the massacre of the Polish patriots at the bridge of 
Prague apostrophe to the self-interested enemies of human im- 
provement the wrongs of Africa the barbarous policy of Euro- 
peans in India prophecy in the Hindoo mythology of the ex- 
pected descent of the Deity, to redress the miseries of their race, 
and to take vengeance on the violators of justice and mercy 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



PART I. 

At summer eve, when HeavVs aerial bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below. 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky? 
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 5 

More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?— 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 

Thus, with delight, we linger to survey 
The promised joys of life's unmeasur'd way; 10 

Thus, from afar, each dim-discover'd scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been; 
And every form, that Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 



48 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

What potent spirit guides the raptur'd eye 15 

To pierce the shades of dim futurity? 
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heav'nly power, 
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour? 
Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man — 
Her dim horizon bounded to a span; 20 

Or, if she hold an image to the view, 
'Tis Nature pictur'd too severely true. 

With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heav'nly light* 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight: 
Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, 25 

That calls each slumb'ring passion into play: 
Wak'd by thy touch, I see the sister band, 
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, 
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, 
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. 30 

Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say, 
When Man and Nature mourn'd their first decay; 
When every form of death, and every woe, 
Shot from malignant stars to earth below; 
When Murder bar'd his arm, and rampant War 35 

Yok'd the red dragons of her iron car; 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 49 

WheirTeace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain, 

Sprung on the viewless winds to Heav'n again; 

All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, 

But Hope, the charmer, linger'd stiil behind. 40 

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare 
From Carmel's height to sweep the fields of air, 
The prophet's mantle, ere his Right began, 
Dropp'd on the world — a sacred gift to man. 

Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow A'S 

Wreaths for ea.ch toil, a charm for every woe: 
Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour 
The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; 
There, as the wild-bee murmurs on the wing, 
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! 50 
What viewless forms th' iEolian organ play, 
And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away! 

Angel of lifel thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore. 
Lo! to the wint'ry winds the pilot yields 55 

His bark careering o'er unfathom'd fields; 



50 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, 

Where Andes, giant of the western star, 

With meteor standard to the winds unfurl'd, 

Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world. 60 

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, 
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles; 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow; 
And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, 65 

The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delay; 
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 70 

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul: 
His native hills that rise in happier climes, 75 

The grot that heard his song of other times, 






i 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 51 

His cottage-home, his bark of slender sail, 
His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, 
Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, 
Treads the lov'd shore he sigh'd to leave behind; 80 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace; 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, 
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! 
While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, 85 

His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, 
Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) 
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 

Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest hour, 
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power; 90 

To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, 
On stormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields. 
When front to front the banner'd hosts combine, 
Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line; 
When all is still on Death's devoted soil, 95 

The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil; 
As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high 
The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, 



o2 pleasures of hope. 

Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, 

And hears thy stormy music in the drum. 100 

And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron to his native shore — * 
In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep 
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 
'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock, 105 

Scourg'd by the winds, and cradled on the rock, 
To wake each joyless morn, and search again 
The famish'd haunts of solitary men, 
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, 
Ki^ows not a trace of Nature but the form; i 10 

Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, 
Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued, 
Pierc'd the deep woods, and, hailing from afar 
The moon's pale planet and the northern star; 
Paus'd at each dreary cry, unheard before, 1 15 

Hyaenas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore; 
Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime, 
He found a warmer world, a milder clime, 
A home to rest, a shelter to defend, 
Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend! 2 120 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 53 

Congenial Hope! thy passion-kindling power, 
How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour: 
On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand, 
1 see thee light, and wave thy golden wand. 

" Go, Child of Heav'n! (thy winged words proclaim) 
'Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame! 126 
Lo! Newton, priest of Nature, shines afar, 
Scans the wide world, and numbers ev'ry star! 
Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, 
And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye? 130 
Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound, 
The speed of light, the circling march of sound; 
With Franklin, grasp the lightning's fiery wing, 
Or yield the lyre of Heav'n another string. 3 

" The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bow'rs, 4 135 
His winged insects, and his rosy flow'rs; 
Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train 
With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain — 
So once, at Heav'n's command, the wand'rers came 
To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. 14$ 

E 2 



54 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

44 Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime. 
Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime; 
Calm as the field's of Heav'n, his sapient eye 
The lov'd Athenian lifts to realms on high; 
Admiring Plato, on his spotless page, 145 

Stamps the bright dictates of the father sage; 
i Shall Nature bound to earth's diurnal span 
< The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?' 

" Turn, Child of Heav'n, thy rapture-lighten'd eye 
To Wisdom's walks, — the sacred Nine are nigh: 150 
Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height, 
From streams that wander in eternal light, 
Rang'd on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell 
The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell; 
Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow, 5 155 
And Pythia's awful organ peals below, 

" Belov'd of Heav'n! the smiling Muse shall shed 
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; 
Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfin'd, 
And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. 160 

I see thee roam her guardian pow'r beneath, 
And talk with spirits on the midnight heath; 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



55 



Inquire of guilty wand'rers whence they came, 
And ask each blood-stain'd form his earthly name; 
Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, 165 

And read the trembling world the tales of hell. 

" When Venus, thron'd in clouds of rosy hue, 
Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew, 
And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ, 
Sacred to love and walks of tender joy; 170 

A milder mood the goddess shall recal, 
And soft as dew thy tones of music fall; 
While Beauty's deeply-pictur'd smiles impart 
A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart — 
Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain, 175 
And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain. 

" Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem, 
And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream; 
To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile — 
For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile; — 180 
On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief, 
And teach impassion'd souls the joy of grief? 



56 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

" Yes; to thy tongue shall seraph words be giv'n, 
And pow'r on earth to plead the cause of heav'n: 
The proud, the cold, untroubled heart of stone, 185 

That never mus'd on sorrow but its own, 
Unlocks a generous store at thy command, 
Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. 6 
The living lumber of his kindred earth, 
Charm'd into soul, receives a second birth; 190 

Feels thy dread pow'r another heart afford, 
Whose passion-touch'd harmonious strings accord 
True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan; 
And man, the brother, lives the friend of man! 

" Bright as the pillar rose at Heav'n's command, 195 
When Israel march'd along the desert land, 
Blaz'd through the night on lonely wilds afar, 
And told the path — a never-setting star: 
So, heav'nly Genius, in thy course divine, 
Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine." 200 

Propitious Pow'r! when rankling cares annoy 
The sacred home of Hymenean joy; 
When doom'd to Poverty's sequester'd dell, 
The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. ^ 

Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame, 205 

Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same 

Oh there, prophetic Hope! thy smile bestow, 

And chase the pangs that worth should never know — 

There, as the parent deals his scanty store 

To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, 210 

Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage 

Their father's wrongs, and shield his later age. 

What though for him no Hybla sweets distil. 

Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill; 

Tell, that when silent years have pass'd away, 216 

That when his eyes grow dim, his tresses gray. 

These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build, 

And deck with fairer flow'rs his little field, 

And call from Heav'n propitious dews to breathe 

Arcadian beauty on the barren heath; 220 

Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears 

The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, 

Health shall prolong to many a festive hour 

The social pleasures of his humble bower. 

Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, 225 

Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; 



5$ PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, 

Smiles on her slumb'ring child with pensive eyes, 

And weaves a song of melancholy joy — 

" Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy: 230 

No ling'ring hour of sorrow shall be thine; 

No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine; 

Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be 

In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he! 

Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, 235 

Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past— 

With many a smile my solitude repay, 

And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. 

" And say, when summon'd from the world and thee,, 
I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 240 

Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear, 
And soothe my parted spirit ling'ring near? 
Oh, wilt thou come, at ev'ning hour, to shed 
The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed; 
With aching temples on thy hand reclin'd, 245 

Muse on the last farewel I leave behind, 
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low, 
And think on all my love, and all my woe?" 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 



59 



So speaks affection, ere the infant eye 
Can look regard, or brighten in reply; 250 

But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim 
A mother's ear by that endearing name; 
Soon as the playful innocent can prove 
A tear of pity, or a smile of love, 

Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care, 255 

Or lisps with holy look his ev'ning prayer, 
Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear 
The mournful ballad warbled in his ear; 
How fondly looks admiring Hope the while. 
At every artless tear, and every smile! 260 

How glows the joyous parent to descry 
A guileless bosom, true to sympathy! 

Where is the troubled heart, consign'd to share 
Tumultuous toils, or solitary care, 
Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray 265 

To count the joys of Fortune's better day! 
Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume 
The dim-ey'd tenant of the dungeon gloom, 
A long lost friend, or hapless child restor'd, 
Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board; 270 



50 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow, 
And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe. 

Chide not his peace, proud Reason! nor destroy 
The shadowy forms of uncreated joy, 
That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour 275 

Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. 

Hark! the wild maniac Jungs, to chide the gale 
That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail; 
She, sad spectatress, on the wint'ry shore 
Watch'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore, 
Knew the pale form, and, shrieking in amaze, 281 

Clasp'd her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening gaze: 
Poor widow'd wretch! 'twas there she wept in vain, 
Till memory fled her agonizing brain: — 
But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe, 285 

Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow; 
Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, 
And aimless Hope delights her darkest dream. 

Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, 
And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, 290 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 61 

Pil'don the steep, her blazing faggots burn 
To hail the bark that never can return; 
And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep 
That constant love can linger on the deep. 

And, mark the wretch, whose wand'rings never knew 

The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue, 296 

Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 

But found not pity when it err'd no more. 

Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye 

Th' unfeeling proud one looks — and passes by; 300 

Condemn'd on Penury's barren path to roam, 

Scorn'd by the world, and left without a home — 

Ev'n he, at evening, should he chance to stray 

Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way, 

Where, round the cot's romantic glade are seen 305 

The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green, 

Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while — 

Oh! that for me some home like this would smile, 

Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form, 

Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm! 310 

There should my hand no stinted boon assign 

To wretched hearts with sorrows such as mine! — 

F 



62 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

That generous wish can soothe unpitied care, 
And Hope half mingles with the poor man's pray'r. 

Hope! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, 315 
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, 
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see 
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be; 
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan, 
And learn the future by the past of man. 320 

Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time, 
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime; 
Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, 
Trace every wave, and culture every shore. 
On Erie's banks, where tygers steal along, 325 

And the dread Indian chants a dismal song, 
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, 
And bathe in brains the murd'rous tomahawk; 
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray, 
And shepherds dance at Summer's op'ning day; 330 
Each wand'rhvg genius of the lonely glen 
Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men; 
And silent watch, on woodland heights around. 
The village curfew, as it tolls profound. 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 53 

In Libyan groves, where damned rites are done, 335 
That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun, 
Truth shall arrest the murd'rous arm profane, 
Wild Obi fiies 7 — the veil is rent in twain. 

Where barb'rous hordes on Scythian mountains roam, 
Truth, Mercy? Freedom, yet shall find a home; 340 

Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines, 
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, s 
Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there, 
And light the dreadful features of despair. — 
Hark! the stern captive spurns his heavy load, 345 

And asks the image back that Heaven bestow'd! 
Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns, 
And, as the slave departs, the man returns! 

Oh! sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd awhile, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile, 350 
When leagu'd Oppression pour'd to northern w r ars 
Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars, 
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
PeaPd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 355 

Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man! 9 



64 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Warsaw's last champion, from her height surveyed, 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — 
Oh! Heav'n! he cried, my bleeding country save! — 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave. 360 

Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
And swear for her to live! — with her to die! 

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd 365 

His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd; 
Firm-pac'd and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; 
Low, murm'ring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death, — the watchword and reply; 370 

Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm! — 

In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! 
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew: — 
Oh! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 375 

Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 55 

Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, 
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career; — 380 
Hope, for a season, bade the world fare we 1, 
And Freedom shriek'd — as Kosciusko fell! 

The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there, 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 385 

His blood-dy'd waters murm'ring far below; 
The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay! 
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! 39Q 

Earth shook — red meteors flash'd along the sky, 
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry! 

Oh! Righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave. 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save? 
Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God, 396 

That crush'd proud Amnion, when his iron car 
Was yok'cl in wrath, and thunder'd from afar? 
Where was the storm that slumber'd tili the host 
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast; 400 

F 2 



66 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, 
And heav'd an ocean on their march below? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! 
Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, 405 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van! 
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
And make her arm puissant as your own! 
Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return 
The Patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bannockburn! 41Q 

Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul — -and dare be free! 
A little while, along thy saddening plains, 
The starless night of desolation reigns; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature giv'n, 415 

And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n! 
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd, — 
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world! 

Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, 
And hate the light — because your deeds are dark; 420 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 67 

Ye that expanding truth invidious view, 
And think, or wish the song of Hope untrue; 
Perhaps your little hands presume to span 
The march of Genius, and the pow'rs of Man; 
Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd shrine, 425 

Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine: — 
" Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease; and here, 
Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career." 

Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard ring; 
In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring: 430 

What! can ye lull the winged w r inds asleep, 
Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep? 
No: — the wild wave contemns your scepter'd hand; — 
Itroli'd not back when Canute gave command! 

Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow? 435 

Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow? 
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd? 
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world? 
What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied? 
Why then hath Plato liv'd— or Sidney died: 5 440 



68 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Ye fond adorers of departed fame, 
Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name! 
Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire 
The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre! 
Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore 445 

Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, 
Where Valour tun'd, amid her chosen throng, 
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song; 
Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms 
Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms! 450 

See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell, 
And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell! 
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore, 
Hath Valour left the world — to live no more? 
No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die, 455 

And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye? 
Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls, 
Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls? 
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm, 
The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm? 460 

Yes! in that generous cause for ever strong, 
The patriot's virtue, and the poet's song, 



PLEASURES OP HOPE. 69 

Still, as the tide of ages rolls away, 

Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay! 

Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, 465 
That slumber yet in uncreated dust, 
Ordain'd to fire th' adoring sons of earth 
With every charm of wisdom and of worth; 
Ordain'd to light, with intellectual day, 
The mazy wheels of Nature as they play, 470 

Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, 
And rival all but Shakspeare's name below! 

And say, supernal Powers! who deeply scan 
Heaven's dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man, 
When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame, 
That embryo spirit, yet without a name, — 476 

That friend of Nature, whose avenging hands 
Shall burst the Lybian's adamantine bands? 
Who, sternly marking on his native soil, 
The blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil, 480 

Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see 
Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free! 



70 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Yet, yet, degraded men! th' expected day 
That breaks your bitter cup, is far away; 
Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed, 485 
And holy men give scripture for the deed; 
Scourg'd and debas'd, no Briton stoops to save 
A wretch, a coward; yes, because a slave! 

Eternal Nature! when thy giant hand 
Had heav'd the floods, and fix'd the trembling land, 
When life sprung startling at thy plastic call, 49 1 

Endless her forms, and Man the lord of all! 
Say, was that lordly form inspir'd by thee 
To wear eternal chains, and bow the knee? 
Was man ordain'd the slave of man to toil, 495 

Yok'd with the brutes, and fetter'd to the soil; 
Weigh'd in a tyrant's balance w T ith his gold? 
No! — Nature stamp'd us in a heav'nly mould! 
She bade no wretch his thankless labour urge, 
Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge! 500 
No homeless Lybian, on the stormy deep, 
To call upon his country's name, and weep! 

Lo! once in triumph on his boundless plain, 
The quiver'd chief of Congo lov'd to reign; 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 71 

With fires proportion^ to his native sky, 505 

Strength in his arm, and lightning in his eye; 

Scour'd with wild feet his sun-illumin'd zone, 

The spear, the lion, and the woods his own; 

Or led the combat, bold without a plan, 

An artless savage, but a fearless man! 510 

The plunderer came: — alas! no glory smiles 
For Congo's chief on yonder Indian isles; 
F6r ever fallen! no son of Nature now, 
Wijth Freedom charter'd on his manly brow! 
Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away, 515 
And, when the sea-wind wafts the dewless day, 
Starts, with a bursting heart, for ever more 
To curse the sun that lights their guilty shore. 

The shrill horn blew; 10 at that alarum knell 
His guardian angel took a last farewell 52© 

That funeral dirge to darkness hath resign'd 
The fiery grandeur of a generous mind! — 
Poor fetter'd man! I hear thee whispering low 
Unhallow'd vows to Guilt, the child of Woe! 
Friendless thy heart; and, canst thou harbour there 525 
A wish but death — a passion but despair? 



72 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

The widow'd Indian, when her lord expires, 
Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral fires! 
So falls the heart at Thraldom's bitter sigh! 
So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty! 530 

But not to Lybia's barren climes alone, 
To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone, 
Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye, 
Degraded worth, and poor misfortune's sigh! — 
Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run! 535 

Prolific fields! dominions of the sun! 
How long your tribes have trembled, and obey'd! 
How long was Timur's iron sceptre sway'd! ll 
Whose marshall'd hosts, the lions of the plain, 
From Scythia's northern mountains to the main, 540 
Rag'd o'er your plunder'd shrines and altars bare, 
With blazing torch and gory scymitar, — 
Stunn'd with the cries of death each gentle gale, 
And bath'd in blood the verdure of the vale! 
Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame, 545 

When Brama's children perish'd for his name; 
The martyr smil'd beneath avenging pow'r, 
And brav'd the tyrant in his torturing hour! 



PLEASURES OF HO; 73 

When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, 
And stretch'd her giant sceptre o'er the main, 550 

Taught her proud barks their winding way to shape, 
And brav'd the stormy spirit of the Cape; 12 
Children of Brama! then was Mercy nigh 
To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye? 
Did Peace descend, to triumph and to save, 555 

When free-born Britons cross'd the Indian wave? 
Ah, no! — to more than Rome's ambition true, 
The Nurse of Freedom gave it not to you! 
She the bold route of Europe's guilt began, 
And in the march of nations, led the van! 56® 

Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, 
And plunder pil'd from kingdoms not their own. 
Degenerate Trade! thy minions could despise 
The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries; 
Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming store, 56:-) 
While famish'd nations died along the shore; 13 
Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear 
The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair; 
Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name. 
And barter, with their gold, eternal shame: 57<S 

G 



74 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

But hark! as bow'd to earth the Brarain kneels, 
From heav'nly climes propitious thunder peak! 
Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell, 
Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell, 
And solemn sounds, that awe the list'ning mind, 575 
Roll on the azure paths of every wind. 



I 



" Foes of mankind! (her guardian spirits say) 
Revolving ages bring the bitter day, 
When Heav'n's unerring arm shall fall on you, 
And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew; 580 

Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurl'd 
His awful presence o'er the alarmed world; 
Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, 
Convulsive trembled as the Mighty came; 
Nine times hath suffering Mercy spar'd in vain — 14 585 
But Heav'n shall burst her starry gates again! 
He comes! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky 
With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high! 
Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, 
Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm! 590 
Wide waves his flickering sword, his bright arms glow 
Like summer suns, and light the world below! 
Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed 
Are shook, and Nature rocks beneath his tread! 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 75 

" To pour redress %n India's injur'd realm, 595 

The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm; 
To chase destruction from her plunder'd shore, 
With arts and arms that triumphed once before, 
The tenth Avatar comes! at Heav'n's command ^ 
Shall Seriswattee 15 wave her hallowed wand! 600 

And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime, 
Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime! — 
Come, Heav'nly Powers! primeval peace restore! 
Love! — Mercy! — Wisdom! — rule for ever more!" 



KXD OF PART FIRST, 



ANALYSIS OF PART II. 

Apostrophe to the power of Love its intimate connexion 

with generous and social Sensibility allusion to that beautiful 

passage in the beginning of the book of Genesis, which represents 
the happiness of Paradise itself incomplete, till love was superadded 

to its other blessings the dreams of future felicity which a lively 

imagination is apt to cherish, when Hope is animated by refined 
attachment.. ..this disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene 
of residence, all that is pleasing in our estimate of happiness, com- 
pared to the skill of the great artist, who personified perfect beauty, 
in the picture of Venus, by an assemblage of the most beautiful 

features he could find a summer and winter evening described, 

as they may be supposed to ^rise in the mind of one who wishes, 
with enthusiasm, for the union of friendship and retirement. 

Hope and Imagination inseparable agents even in those con- 
templative moments when our imagination wanders beyond the 
boundaries of this world, our minds are not unattended with an 
impression that we shall some day have a wider and distinct pros- 
pect of the universe, instead of the partial glimpse we now enjoy. 

The last and most sublime influence of Hope, is the concluding 

topic of the Poem the predominance of a belief in a future state 

over the terrors attendant on dissolution the baneful influence of 

that sceptical philosophy which bars us from such comforts allu- 
sion to the fate of a suicide Episode of Conrad and Ellenore 

Conclusion . 



PLEASUBES OF HOPE. 

PART II. 

In joyous youth, what soul hath never known 
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? 
Who hath not paus'd, while Beauty's pensive eye 
Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? 
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, 5 
The power of grace, the magic of a name? 

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow; 
There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, 
In self-adoring pride securely maiPd; — 10 

But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few! 
Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you! 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between; 



82 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

'Tis yours, unmov'd, to sever and to meet; 15 

No pledge is sacred, ai\d no home is sweet! 

Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed, 
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? 
No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, 
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy! 20 

And say, without our hopes, without our fears, 
Without the home that plighted love endears, 
Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
O! what were man? — a world without a sun! 

Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 2 5 

There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bow'r! 
In vain the viewless seraph ling'ring there. 

At starry midnight uhai m'd the silent air; 

In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, 

To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep; 30 

In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, 

Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd; 

The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, 

The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;— 

Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, 35 

And still the stranger wist not where to stray, — 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 33 

The world was sad! — the garden was a wild! 
And Man, the hermit, sigh'd — till Woman smiPd! 

True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring 
Delirious anguish on his fiery wing! 40 

Barr'd from delight by Fate's untimely hand, 
By wealthless lot, or pitiless command; 
Or doom'd to gaze on beauties that adorn 
The smile of triumph, or the frown of scorn; 
While Memory watches o'er the sad review, 45 

Of joys that faded like the morning dew; 
Peace may depart — and life and nature seem 
A barren path — a wildness, and a dream! 

But, can the noble mind for ever brood, 
The willing victim of a weary mood, 50 

On heartless cares that squander life away, 
And cloud young Genius bright'ning into day? — 
Shame to the coward thought that e'er betray'd 
The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade! — 1 
If Hope's creative spirit cannot raise 55 

One trophy sacred to thy future days, 
Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrine 
Of hopeless love to murmur and repine! 




84 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

But, should a sigh of milder mood express 

Thy heart -warm wishes, true to happiness, 60 

Should Heav'n's fair harbinger delight to pour 

Her blissful visions on thy pensive hour, 

No tear to blot thy memory's pictur'd page, 

No fears but such as fancy can assuage; 

Though thy wild heart some hapless hour may miss 65 

The peaceful tenor of unvaried bliss, 

(For love pursues an ever devious race, 

True to the winding lineaments of grace;) 

Yet still may Hope her talisman employ 

To snatch from Heaven anticipated joy, 70 

And all her kindred energies impart 

That burn the brightest in the purest heart! 

When first the Rhodian's mimic art array'd 
The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade, 
The happy master mingled on his piece ; 75 

Each look that charm' d him in the fair of Greece; 
To faultless Nature true, he stole a grace 
From every finer form and sweeter face; 
And, as he sojourn'd on the JEgean isles, 
Woo'd all their love, and treasur'd all their smiles; 80 




PLEASURES OF HOPE. 85 

Then glow'd the tints, pure, precious, and refin'd, 
And mortal charms seem'd heavenly when combin'd! 
Love on the picture smilM! Expression pour'd 
Her mingling spirit there— and Greece ador'd! 

So thy fair hand, enamour'd Fancy! gleans 85 

The treasur'd pictures of a thousand scenes; 
Thy pencil traces on the Lover's thought 
Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote, 
Where Love and Lore may claim alternate hours, 
With Peace embosom'd in Idalian bow'rs! 90 

Remote from busy life's bewilder'd way, 
O'er all his heart shall Taste and Beauty sway! 
Free on the sunny slope, or winding shore, 
With hermit steps to wander and adore! 
There shall he love, when genial morn appears, 95 

Like pensive beauty smiling in her tears, 
To watch the bright'ning roses of the sky, 
And muse on Nature with a poet's eye! — 
And when the sun's last splendour lights the deep, 
The woods, and waves, and murm'ring winds asleep; 100 
When fairy harps th' Hesperian planet hail, 
And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale, 

H 



86 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

tlis path shall be where streamy mountains swell 
Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell, 
Where mouldering piles and forests intervene, 105 

Mingling with darker tints the living green; 
No circling hills his ravish'd eye to bound, 
Heaven, Earth, and Ocean, blazing all around! 

The moon is up—the watch-tow'r dimly burns— 
And down the vale his sober step returns; 1 10 

But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey 
The still sweet fall of Music far away; 
And oft he lingers from his home awhile 
To watch the dying notes! — and start, and smile! 

Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep 1 15 

The dark'ning world, and tempest-troubled deep! 
Though boundless snows the wither' d heath deform, 
And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm; 
Yet shall the smile of social love repay, 
With mental light, the melancholy day! 120 

And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er, 
The ice-chain'd waters slumbering on the shore, 
How bright the faggots in his little hall 
Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictur'd wall! 



PLEASURES 01 HOPE. 87 

How blest he names, in Love's familiar tone, 125 

The kind fair friend, by Nature mark'd his own; 
And, in the waveless mirror of his mind, 
Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, 
Since Anna's empire o'er his heart began! 
Since first he cail'd her his before the holy man! 130 

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, 
And light the wint'ry paradise of home; 
And let the half-uncurtain'cl window hail 
Some way-worn man benighted in the vale I - 
Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high, 135 
As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky, 
While fiery hosts in Heav'n's wide circle play, 
And bathe in livid light the milky-way, 
Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower, 
Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour — 140 
With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, 
A generous tear of anguish, or a smile — 
Thy woes, Arion! and thy simple tale, 2 
O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail! 
Charm'd as they read the verse too sadly true, 145 

How gallant Albert, and his weary crew, 



88 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Heav'd all their guns, their foundering bark to save. 
And toiPd — and shriek'd — and perish'd on the wave I 

Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, 
The seamen's cry was heard along the deep; " 15Q 

There on his funeral waters, dark and wild, 
The dying father ble,st his darling child! 
Oh! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried, 
Spent on the pray'r his bursting heart, and die-d! 

Or will they learn how generous worth sublimes 155 
The robber Moor, 3 and pleads for all his crimes! 
How poor Amelia kiss'd, with many a tear, 
His hand blood-stain'd, but ever ever dear! 
Hung on the tortur'd bosom of her lord, 
And wept, and prayed perdition from his sword! 160 
Nor sought in vain! at that heart-piercing cry 
The strings of nature crack'd with agony! 
He, with delirious laugh, the dagger huii'd, 
And burst the ties that bound him to the world! 

Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel 165 
The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel' — 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 89 

Turn to the gentler melodies that suit 

Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute; 

Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, 

From clime to clime descend from age to age! 170 

Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude 
Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood; 
There shall he pause, with horrent brow, to rate 
What millions died — that Caesar might be great! 4 
Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, 5 175 
March'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore; 
Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast, 
The Swedish soldier sunk — and groan'd his last! 
File after file, the stormy showers benumb, 
Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum! 180 
Horsemen and horse confess'd the bitter pang, 
And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang! 
Yet, ere he sunk in Nature's last repose, 
Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze, 
The dying man to Sweden turn'd his eye, 185 

Thought of his home, and clos'd it with a sigh! 
Imperial Pride look'd sullen on his plight, 
And Charles beheld — nor shudder'd at the sight! 

H2 



pa PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, 
Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie, 19a 

And Hope attends, companion of the way, 
Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day! 
In yonder pensile orb, and every sphere 
That gems the starry girdle of the year; 
In those unmeasur'd worlds, she bids thee tell, 195 

Pure from their God, created millions dwell, 
Whose names and natures, unreveal'd below, 
We yet shall learn, and wonder as we know; 
For, as Iona's Saint, a giant form, 6 
Thron'd on her tow'rs, conversing with the storm, 20ft 
(When o'er each runic altar } weed-entwin'd, 
The vesper clock tolls mournful to the wind), 
Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar, 
From Kilda to the green Ierne's shore; 
So, when thy pure and renovated mind 205 

This perishable dust hath left behind, 
Thy seraph eye shall count the starry train, 
Like distant islea embosom'd in the main; 
Rapt to the shrine where motion first began, 
And light and life in mingling torrent ran, 2 10 

From whence each bright rotundity was hurl'd, 
The Throne of God, — the centre of the world 4 ! 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. £ X 

Oh! vainly wise, the moral Muse hath sung 
That suasive Hope hath but a Syren tongue! 
True; she may sport with life's untutor'd day, 215 

Nor heed the solace of its last decay, 
The guileless heart her happy mansion spurn. 
And part like Ajut — never to return! 7 

But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall assauge 
The griefs and passions of our greener age, 220 

Though dull the close of life, and far away 
Each flow'r that hail'd the dawning of the day; 
Yet o'er her lovely hopes that once were dear, 
The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe, 
With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill, 225 

-And weep their falsehood, though she love them still! 

Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconcil'd, 
The king of Judfch mourn'd his rebel child! 
Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy 
SmiFd on his sire, and fill'd his heart with joy! 2 SO 

M£ Absalom! (the voice of Nature cried!) 
Oh! that for thee thy father could have died! 
For bloody was the deed, and rashly done. 
That slew my Absalom! — my son! — my son! 



92 PLEASURES OP HOPJg. 

Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn, 235 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! 
Heav'n to thy charge resigns the awful hour! 
Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power! 
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! 240 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day — 
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin! 
And all the Phoenix spirit burns within! 

Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, 245 

The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes! 
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, 
It is a dread and awful thing to die! 
Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun! 
Where Time's far-wand'ring tide has never run, 250 
From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, 
A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 
'Tis Heav'n's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud! 
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, 255 
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 93 

And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 

The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, 

With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 

And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss! 260 

Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illumine 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb! 
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll 
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul! 
Fly, like the moon-ey'd herald of Dismay, 265 

Chas'd on his night-steed by the star of day! 
The strife is o'er — the pangs of Nature close, 
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
The noon of Heav'n undazzled by the blaze, 270 

On Heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky, 
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody; 
Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still 275 
Watch'd on the holy tow'rs of Zion hill! 

Soul of the just! companion of the dead! 
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled? 



94 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Back to its heav'nly source thy being goes, 

Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose; 28f 

Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn, 

And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return. — 

Hark! from the world's exploding centre driv'n, 

With sounds that shook the firmament of Heav'n, 

Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, 285 

On bick'ring wheels, and adamantine car; 

From planet whirl'd to planet more remote, 

He visits realms beyond the reach of thought; 

But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, 

Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun! 290 

So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd 

Her trembling wings, emerging from the world; 

And o'er the path by mortal never trod, 

Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God! 






Oh! lives there, Heav'n! beneath thy dread expanse 
One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance, 296 

Content to feed, with pleasures unrefin'd, 
The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; 
Who, mould'ring earthward, 'reft of every trust, 
In joyless union wedded to the dust, 300 



PLEASURES OF HOPE 95 

Gould all his parting energy dismiss, 

And call this barren world sufficient bliss? — 

There live, alas! 01 Heav'n-directed mien, 

Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, 

Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of a day, 305 

Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay! 

Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 

Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower! 

A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 

Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 310 

Lights to the grave his chance-created form, 

As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm; 

And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 

To Night and Silence sink for ever more! — 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 315 

Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? 
Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 
Children of Truth, and champions of her cause? 
For this hath Science search'd, on weary wing, 
By shore and sea — each mute and living thing? 320 

Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 
To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep? 



96 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Or round the cope her living chariot driv'n, 

And wheel'd in triumph through the signs of Heav'nr 

Oh! star-ey'd Science, hast thou wander'd there, 325 

To waft us home the message of despair? 

Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 

Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit! 

Ah me! the laurel'd wreath that murder rears, 

Blood-nurs'd, and water'd by the widow's tears, 330 

Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 

As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. 

What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain? 

I smile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain! 

But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife 335 

Be all the faithless charter of my life, 

If Chance awak'd, inexorable pow'r! 

This frail andfev'rish being of an hour, 

Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, 

Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 340 

To know Delight but by her parting smile, 

And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while; 

Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain 

This troubled pulse, and visionary brain! 

Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom! 345 

And sink, ye stars, that light me' to the tomb! 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 97 

Truth, ever lovely, since the world began, 

The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 

How can thy words from balmy slumber start 

Reposing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart! 350 

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolPd, 

And that were true which Nature never told, 

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field; 

No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveal'd! 

Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 35 5 

The doom that bars us from abetter fate; 

But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, 

Weep to record, and blush to give it in! 

And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay, 
Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay, 360 

Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale, 
It darkly hints a melancholy tale! 
There, as the homeless madman sits alone, 
In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan! 
And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds, 365 

When the moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds. 
Poor, lost Alonzo! Fate's neglected child! 
Mild be the doom of Heav'n — as thou wert mild! 

I 



98 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

For oh! thy heart in holy mould was cast, 

And all thy deeds were blameless, but the last. 370 

Poor, lost Alonzo! still I seem to hear 

The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier! 

When Friendship paid, in speechless sorrow drown'd, 

Thy midnight rites, but not on hallow'd ground! 

Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, 375 

But leave — oh! leave the light of Hope behind! 
What though my winged hours of bliss have been, 
Like angel-visits, few, and far between! 
Her musing mood shall every pang appease, 
And charm — when pleasures lose the power to please! 

Yes! let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee; 38 

Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea — 
Mirth, Music, Friendship, Love's propitious smile, 
Chase every care, and charm a little while, 
Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ, 385 

And all her strings are harmoniz'd to Joy! — 
But why so short is Love's delighted hour? 
Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest flow'r? 
Whv can no hymned charm of Music heal 
The sleepless woes impassion'd spirits feel? 390 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 99 

Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create, 
To hide the sad realities of fate? — 

No! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule, 
Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school, 
Have pow'r to soothe, unaided and alone, 395 

The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone: 
When step dame Nature every bliss recals, 
Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls; 
When, 'reft of all, yon widow'd sire appears 
A lonely hermit in the vale of years; 40& 

Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow 
To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe? 
No! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, — 
Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you! 
Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain, 405 

Congenial spirits part to meet again! — 

What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew, 
What sorrow chok'd thy long and last adieu, 
Daughter of Conrad! when he heard his knell, 
And bade his country and his child farewell 410 

Doom'cl the long isles of Sydney Cove to see, 
The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee? 



XOO PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, 

And thrice return'd, to bless thee, and to part; 

Thrice from his trembling lips he murmur'd low 415 

The plaint that own'd unutterable woe; 

Till Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, 

As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom, 

Lur'd his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime, 

Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time! 420 

" And weep not thus, (he cried) young Ellenore, 
My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more! 
Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn, 
And soon these limbs to kindred dust return! 
But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 42 5 

The immortal ties of Nature shall expire; 
These shall resist the triumph of decay, 
When time is o'er ? and worlds have pass'd away! 
Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie, 
But that which warm'd it once shall never die! 430 

That spark unburied in its mortal frame, 
With living light, eternal, and the same, 
Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, 
Unveii'd by darkness— unassuag'd by tears! 



PLEASURES OF HOPE. 101 

" Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, 435 

One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep; 
But when I gain the home without a friend, 
And press th' uneasy couch were none attend, 
This last embrace, still cherish'd in my heart, 
Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part! 440 

Thy darling form shall seem to hoyer nigh. 
And hush the groan of life's last agony! 

irewel! when strangers lift thy father's bier, 

And place my nameles^stone without a tear; 

When each returning pledge hath told my child 445 

That Conrad's tomb is on the desert pil'd; 

And when the dream of troubled fancy sees 

Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze; 

Who then will soothe thy grief, when mine is o'er? 

Who will protect thee, helpless Ellenore? 450 

Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide, 

Scorn'd by the world, to factious guilt allied? 

Ah! no; methinks the generous and the good 

Will woo thee from the shades of solitude! 

O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, 455 

And smile on Innocence, for Mercy's sake!" 

12 



102 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, 
The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee I 
If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell, 
If that faint murmur be the last farewell 460 

If fate unite the faithful but to part, 
Why is their memory sacred to the heart? 
Why does the brother of my childhood seem 
Restor'd awhile in every pleasing dream? 
Why do I joy the lonely spot to view, 465 

By artless friendship bless'd when life was new? 

Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime 
Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of Time, 
Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade.— 
When all the sister planets have decay'd; 47® 

When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; 
Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile! 



ENl) OF PART SECOND, 



NOTES 



ON PART I. 



No 



ote I. And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron to his native shore. 

The following picture of his own distress, given 
by Byron in his simple and interesting narrative, jus- 
tifies the description in page 52. 

After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to 
his child, he proceeds thus: — " A day or two after, 
we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I men- 
tioned we had been at the bottom of when we first 
hauled away to the westward. The land here was very 
low and sandy, and something like the mouth of a ri- 
ver which discharged itselt into the sea, and which had 
been taken no notice of by us before, as it was so shal- 
low, that the Indians were obliged to take every thing 
out of their canoes, and carry it over land. We rowed 
up the river four or five leagues, and then took into a 
branch of it that ran first to the eastward, and then to 
the northward: here it became much narrower, and 
the stream excessively rapid, so that we gained but lit- 



104 PLEASURES OP HOPE. 

tie way, though we wrought very hard. At night we 
landed upon its banks, and had a most uncomfortable 
lodging, it being a perfect swamp; and we had nothing 
to cover us, though it rained excessively. The Indians 
were little better off than we, as there was no wood 
here to make their wigwams; so that all they could do 
was to prop up the bark, which they carry in the bot- 
tom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as 
they could to the leeward of it. Knowing the difficul- 
ties they had to encounter here, they had provided 
themselves with some seal; but we had not a morsel to 
eat, after the heavy fetigues of the day, excepting a sort 
of root we saw the Indians make use of, which was very 
disagreeable to the taste- We laboured all next day 
against the stream, and fared as we had clone the day 
before. The next day brought us to the carrying place. 
Here was plenty of wood, but nothing to be got for sus- 
tenance. We passed this night as we had frequently 
done, under a tree; but what we suffered at this time 
is not easy to be expressed. I had been three days at 
the oar, without any kind of nourishment except the 
wretched root above mentioned. I had no shirt, for it 
had rotted off by bits. All my clothes consisted of a 
short grieko (something like a bearskin), a piece of 
red cloth which had once been a waistcoat, and a rag- 
ged pair of trowsers, without shoes or stockings. 5 ' 



NOTES ON PART I. 103 

NTote 2. A Briton and a friend. 

, Don Patricio Gedd, a Scotch physician in one of the 
Spanish settlements, hospitably relieved Byron and his 
wretched associates, of which the Commodore speaks 
in the warmest terms of gratitude. 

Note 3. Or yield the lyre qfhemfn another string. 

The seven strings of Apollo's harp were the symbo- 
lical representation of the seven planets. Herschel, by 
discovering an eighth, might be said to add another 
string to the instrument. 

Note 4. The Swedish sage. 
Linnaeus. 

Note 5. Deefifrom his vaults the Loxian murmurs fioiv. 
Loxias is a name frequently given to Apollo by 
Greek writers: it is met with more than once in the 
Chcephorae of -fischylus. 

Note' 6. Unlocks a generous store at thy command, 

Like Horeh's rocks beneath the firo/ihet's hand. 
See Exodus, chap. xvii. 3, 5, 6. 

Note 7. Wild Obi files. 

Among the negroes of the West Indies, Obi, or 
Obiah, is the name of a magical power, which is be- 
lieved by them to affect the object of its malignity with 



X(X3 PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

dismal calamities. Such a belief must undoubtedly 
have been deduced from the superstitious mythology 
of their kinsmen on the coast of Africa. I have there- 
fore personified Obi as the evil spirit of the African, al- 
though the history of the African tribes mentions the 
evil spirits of their religious creed by a different appel- 
lation. 

Note 8. Sibir's dreary mines. 

Mr. Bell of Antermony, in his Travels through Sibe- 
ria, informs us that the name of the country is univer- 
sally pronounced Sibir by the Russians. 

Note 9. Presaging tvrath to Poland — and to man! 

The history of the partition of Poland, ot the mas- 
sacre in the suburbs of Warsaw, and on the bridge of 
Prague, the triumphant entry of Suwarrow into the Po- 
lish capital, and the insult offered to human nature, by 
the blasphemous thanks offered up to Heaven, for vic- 
tories obtained over men fighting in the sacred cause 
of liberty, by murderers and oppressors, are events ge- 
nerally known. 

Note 10. The shrill horn blew. 

The negroes in the West Indies are summoned to 
their morning work by a shell or a horn. 



NOTES ON PART I. 1Q ~ 

Note 1 1. How long was Timur's iron scefitre sway'd? 

To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotation 
from the Preface to Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, a 
work of elegance and celebrity. 

" The impostor of Mecca had established, as one of 
the principles of his doctrine, the merit of extending 
it, either by persuasion, or the sword, to all parts of the 
earth. How steadily this injunction was adhered to by 
his followers, and with what success it was pursued, is 
well known to all who are in the least conversant in 
history. 

" The same overwhelming torrent, which had inun- 
dated the greater part of Africa, burst its way into the 
very heart of Europe, and covered many kingdoms of 
Asia with unbounded desolation, directed its baleful 
course to the flourishing provinces of Hindostan. Here 
these fierce and hardy adventurers, whose orfly im- 
provement had been in the science of destruction, who 
added the fury of fanaticism to the ravages of war, 
found the great end of their conquests opposed, by ob- 
jects which neither the ardour of their persevering 
zeal, nor savage barbarity could surmount. Multitudes 
were sacrificed by the cruel hand of religious persecu- 
tion, and whole countries were deluged in blood, in the 
vain hope, that by the destruction of a part, the re- 
mainder might be persuaded, or terrified, into the pro- 
fession of Mahomedism; but all these sanguinary ef- 
forts were ineffectual: and at length, being fully con- 



10 g PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

vinced, that though they might extirpate, they could 
never hope to convert any number of the Hindoos, they 
relinquished the impracticable idea, with which they 
had entered upon their career of conquest, and con- 
tented themselves with the acquirement of the civil 
dominion and almost universal empire of Hindostan." 
Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, by Eliza Hamilton. 

Note 12. And brav'd the stormy sfiirit of the Cafie. 

Seethe description of the Cape of Good Hope, trans- 
lated from Camoens, by Mickle. 

Note 13. While famish' d nations died along the shore. 
The following account of British conduct, and its 
consequences, in Bengal, will afford a sufficient idea of 
the fact alluded to in this passage. After describing 
the monopoly of salt, betel nut, and tobacco, the histo- 
rian proceeds thus: — " Money in this current came but 
by drops; it could not quench the thirst of those who 
waited in India to receive it. An expedient, such as it 
was, remained to quicken its pace. The natives could 
live with little salt, but could not want food. Some of 
the agents saw themselves well situated for collecting 
the rice into stores; they did so. They knew the Gen- 
toos would rather die than violate the principles of 
their religion by eating flesh. The alternative would 
therefore be between giving what they had, or dying. 
The inhabitants sunk; — they that cultivated the land, 



NOTES ON PART I. Iqq 

and saw the harvest at the disposal of others, planted 
in doubt — scarcity ensued. Then the monopoly was ea- 
sier managed — sickness ensued. In some districts the 
languid living left the bodies of their numerous dead 
unburied." 

Short History of the English Transactions in the 
East Indies, page 145. 

Note 14. Nine times hath Brama's wheels of lightning 
hurVd 
His awful presence o'er the prostrate world! 
Among the sublime fictions of the Hindoo mytholo- 
gy, it is one article of belief, that the Deity Brama has 
descended nine times upon the world in various forms, 
and that he is yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure 
of a warrior upon a white horse, to cut off all incorri- 
gible offenders. Avatar is the word used to express 
his descent. 

Note 15. And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime, 

Camdeo is the God of Love in the mythology of the 
Hindoos. Ganesa and Seriswattee correspond to the 
Pagan deities Janus and Minerva. 



K 



NOTES. 



ON PART II. 

Note 1. The noon of Manhood to a myrtle shade! 
Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade. — Dryden. 

Note 2. Thy woes, Arionl 

Falconer in his poem The Shipwreck speaks of him- 
self by the name of Arion. — See Falconer's Shifiwreck, 
Canto III. 

Note 3. The robber Moor. 

See Schiller's tragedy of the Robbers, scene v. 

Note 4. What millions died that Caesar might be great. 
The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Caesar 
has been usually estimated at two millions of men. 

Note 5. Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, 

March 9 d by their Charles to Dneifier's swampy 

shore. 

In this extremity (says the biographer of Charles 

XII. of Sweden, speaking of his military exploits be- 



PLEASURES OF HOPE, &c. m 

fore the battle of Pultowa), the memorable winter of 
1709, which was still more remarkable in that part of 
Europe than inFrance, destroyed numbers of his troops; 
for Charles resolved to brave the seasons as he had 
done his enemies, and ventured to make long marches 
during this mortal cold. It was in one of these marches 
that two thousand men fell down dead with cold before 
his eyes. 

Note 6. As on Zona's height. 

The natives of the island of Iona have an opinion, 
that on certain evenings every year the tutelary saint 
Columba is seen on the top of the church spires count- 
ing the surrounding islands, to see that they have not 
been sunk by the power of witchcraft. 

Note 7. And fiarty like Ajut, — never to return! 

See the history of Ajut and Anningait in the Ram- 
bler. 



GERTRUDE 



OF 



WYOMING; 



OR, 



The Pennsylvania!! Cottage, 



K2 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

JVlOST of the popular histories of England, as well 
as of the American war, give an authentic account of 
the desolation of Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, which 
took place in 1778, by an incursion of the Indians. 
The Scenery and Incidents of the following Poem are 
connected with that event. The testimonies of histori- 
ans and travellers concur in describing the infant co- 
lony as one of the happiest spots of human existence, 
for the hospitable and innocent manners of the inha- 
bitants, the beauty of the country, and the luxuriant 
fertility of the soil and climate. In an evil hour, the 
junction of European with Indian arms, converted 
this terrestrial paradise into a frightful waste. Mr. 
Isaac Weld informs us, that the ruins of many of 
the villages, perforated with balls, and bearing marks 
of conflagration were still preserved by the recent 
inhabitants, when he travelled through America in 
1796. 



GERTRUDE 



OF 



WYOMING. 



PART I. 



GERTRUDE 



OF 



WYOMING. 



PART I. 

I. 

On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! 
Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall 
And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring 
Of what thy gentle people did befall, 
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all 
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore. 
Sweet land! may I thy lost delights recall, 
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore, 
Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore! 



120 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 



II. 



Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies, 
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do, 
But feed their flocks on green declivities, 
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe, 
From morn, till evening's sweeter pastime grew, 
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown, 
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew: 
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down 
Would echo flagelet from some romantic town. 



III. 

Then, where on Indian hills the daylight takes 

His leave, how might you the flamingo see 
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — 
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree: 
And ev'ry sound of life was full of glee, 
From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men, 
While heark'ning, fearing nought their revelry, 
The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and thea 
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again. 



GERTRUDE OP WYOMING. 121 

IV. 

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime 

Heard but in transatlantic story rung, 

For here the exile met from ev'ry clime, 

And spoke in friendship ev'ry distant tongue: . 

Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung, 

Were but divided by the running brook; 

And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung, 

On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook, 

The blue-ey'd German chang'd his sword to pruning-hook. 

V. 

Nor far some Andalusian saraband 

Would sound to many a native roundelay. 

But who is he that yet a dearer land 

Remembers, over hills and faraway? 

Green Albyn! 1 what though he no more survey 

Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore, 

Thy pellochs rolling from the mountain bay, 

Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor, 

And distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan roar! 2 

1 Scotland. 2 The great whirlpool of the Western Hebrides. 

L 



122 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

VI. 

Alas! poor Caledonia's mountaineer, 

That want's stern edict e'er, and feudal grief, 

Had forc'd him from a home he lov'd so dear! 

Yet found he here a home, and glad relief, 

And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf, 

That fir'd his Highland blood with mickle glee; 

And England sent her men, of men the chief, 

Wha taught those sires of Empire yet to be, 

To plant the tree of life, — to plant fair freedom's tree! 

VII. 
Here was not mingled in the city's pomp 

Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom; 

Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp, 

Nor seal'd in blood a fellow creature's doom, 

Nor mourn'd the captive in a living tomb. 

One venerable man, beloved of all, 

Suffic'd where innocence was yet in bloom, 

To sway the strife, that seldom might befall, 

And Albert was their judge in patriarchal hall. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

VIII. 

How rev'rend was the look, serenely aged, 
He bore, this gentle Pennsy Iranian sire, 
Where all but kindly fervors were assuag'd, 
Undimm'd by weakness' shade, or turbid ire; 
And though amidst the calm of thought entire, 
Some high and haughty features might betray. 
A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire 
That fled composure's intellectual ray, 
As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day. 

IX. 

I boast no song in magic wonders rife, 

But yet, oh Nature! io there nought to prize, 

Familiar in thy bosom-scenes of life? 

And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies 

No form with which the soul may sympathizer 

Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild 

The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise, 

An inmate in the home of Albert smil'd, 

Or blest his noonday walk — she was his only child, 



12S 



124 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

X. 

The rose of England bloom'd on Gertrude's cheek — 
What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire 
A Briton's independence taught to seek 
Far western worlds; and there his household fire 
The light of social love did long inspire, 
And many a halcyon day he liv'd to see 
Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire, 
When fate had reft his mutual heart — but she 
Was gone — and Gertrude climb'd a widow'd father's 
knee. 

XI. 

A iov'd bequest,- — and I may half impart — 

To them that feel the strong paternal tie, 
How like a new existence to his heart 
Uprose that living flow'r beneath his eye, 
Dear as she was, from cherub infancy, 
From hours when she would round his garden play, 
To time when as the rip'ning years went by, 
\ Her lovely mind could culture well repay, 
And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 125 

XII. 

I may not paint those thousand infant charms; 

(Unconscious fascination, undesign'dl) 
The orison repeated in his arms, 
For God to bless her sire and ail mankind; 
The book , the bosom on his knee reclin'd, 
Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con, 
(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind): 
All uncompanion'd else her years had gone 
Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue summer 
shone. 

XIII. 

And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, 

When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent. 

An Indian from his bark approach their bow'r. 

Of buskin'd limb, and swarthy lineament; 

The red wild feathers on his brow were blent, 

And bracelets bound the arm that help'd to light 

A boy, who seem'd, as he beside him went, 

Of Christian vesture, and complexion bright, 

Led by his dusky guide like morning brought by night 



L 2 



126 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XIV. 

Yet pensive seem'd the boy for one so young, 

The dimple from his polish'd cheek had fled; 
When, leaning on his forest-bow unstrung, 
Th' Oneyda warrior to the planter said, 
And laid his hand upon the stripling's head, 

* Peace be to thee! my words this belt approve; 
' The paths of peace my steps have hither led: 

i This little nursling, take him to thy love, 

* And shield the bird unfledg'd, since gone the parent 

dove. 

XV. 

< Christian! I am the foeman of thy foe; 

4 Our wampum league thy brethren did embrace: 

< Upon the Michigan, three moons ago, 

« We launch'd our quivers for the bison chace; 

* And with the Hurons planted for a space, 

< With true and faithful hands, the olive-stalk; 
' But snakes are in the bosoms of their race, 

' And though they held with us a friendly talk, 

* The hollow peace-tree fell beneath their tomahawk! 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 12 ~ 

XVI. 

* It was encamping on the lake's far port, 

4 A cry of Areouski 3 broke our sleep, 

4 Where storm'd an ambush'd foe thy nation's fort, 

4 And rapid rapid whoops came o'er the deep; 

4 But long thy country's war-sign on the steep 

4 Appear'd through ghastly intervals of light, 

4 And deathfully their thunders seem'd to sweep, 

4 Till utter darkness swallow'd up the sight, 

4 As if a show'r of blood had quench'd the fiery fight! 

XVII. 

* It slept — it rose again — on high their tow'r 

4 Sprung upwards like a torch to light the skies, 

* Then down again it rain'd an ember show'r, 

* And louder lamentations heard we rise: 
4 As when the evil Manitou 4 that dries 

4 The Ohio woods, consumes them in his ire, 
4 In vain the desolated panther flies, 
4 And howls, amidst his wilderness of fire: 
4 Alas! too late, we reach'd and smote those Hurons 
dire! 

3 The Indian God of War. 4 Manitou, Spirit or Deity, 



228 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XVIII. 

4 But as the fox beneath the nobler hound, 

4 So died their warriors by our battle-brand; 
4 And from the tree we with her child unbound 
4 A lonely mother of the Christian land — 
4 Her lord — the captain of the British band — 
4 Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay. 
* Scarce knew the widow our deliv'ring hand; 
4 Upon her child she sobb'd, and swoon'd away, 
4 Or shriek'd unto the God to whom the Christians 
pray. — 

XIX. 

4 Our virgins fed her with their kindly bowls 
4 Of fever-balm, and sweet sagamite; 
4 But she was journeying to the land of souls, 
4 And lifted up her dying head to pray 
4 That we should bid an ancient friend convey 
4 Her orphan to his home of England's shore; 
4 And take, she said, this token far away 
4 To one that will remember us of yore, 
4 When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's Julia 
wore. — 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING, 129 

XX. 

* And I, the eagle of my tribe, 5 have rush'd 

< With this lorn dove.' — A sage's self-command 

Had quell'd the tears from Albert's heart that gush'd; 
But yet his cheek— his agitated hand — 
That shower'd upon the stranger of the land 
No common boon, in grief but ill beguil'd 
A soul that was not wont to be unmann'd; 

< And stay,' he cried, i dear pilgrim of the wild! 

s Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child! — 

XXI. 

i Child of a race whose name my bosom warms, 

1 On earth's remotest bounds how welcome here! 

4 Whose mother oft, a child, has fill'd these arms, 

1 Young as thyself, and innocently dear, 

4 Whose grandsire was my early life's compeer. 

4 Ah happiest home of England's happy clime! 

4 How beautiful ev'n now thy scenes appear, 

4 As in the noon and sunshine of my prime! 

4 How gone like yesterday these thrice ten years of time! 

5 The Indians are distinguished both personally and by tribes 
by the name of particular animals, whose qualities they affect to 
resemble either for cunning-, strength, swiftness, or other quali- 
ties.— As the eagle, the serpent, the fox, or bear. 



130 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XXII. 

1 And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now, 

1 Can I forget thee, fav'rite child of yore? 
Or thought I, in thy father's house when thou 
c Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor, 

* And first of all his hospitable door, 

* To meet and kiss me at my journey's end? 

4 But where was I when Waldegrave was no more? 

* And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend, 

* In woes, that ev'n the tribe of deserts was thy friend!' 

XXIII. 

He said — and strain'd unto his heart the boy: 

Far differently the mute Oneyda took 
His calumet of peace, and cup of joy; 6 
As monumental bronze unchang'd his look: 
j A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook: 
Trained, from his tree-rock'd cradle 7 to his bier, 
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook 

6 Calumet of Peace. — The calumet is the Indian name for the 
ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of 
amity. 

7 Tree-rocked cradle. — The Indian mothers suspend their chil- 
dren in their cradles from the boughs of trees, and let them be 
rocked by the wind. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. |3J 

impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — 
A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear.— 



XXIV. 
Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock 
Of Outalissi's heart disdain'd to grow; 
As lives the oak unwither'd on the rock 
By storms above, and barrenness below: 
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe: ( 
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, 
Or laced his mocasins, in act to go, 
A song of parting to the boy he sung, 
Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly 
tongue. 

XXV. 

* Sleep, wearied one 1 , and in the dreaming land 

1 Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, 

; Ohl tell her spirit, that the white man's hand 

1 Hath pluck'd the thorns of sorrow from thy feet; 

' While I in lonely wilderness shall greet 

4 Thy little foot prints — or by traces know 

' The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet 



132 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

< To feed thee with the quarry of my bow, 

' And pour'd the lotus-horn 8 , or slew the mountain roe. 

XXVI. 

i Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun! 

* But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock, 

' Then come again — my own adopted one! 

4 And I will graft thee on a noble stock: 

i The crocodile, the condor of the rock, 

' Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars; 

' And I will teach thee, in the battle's-shock, 

i To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars, 

< And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars!' 

XXVII. 

So finished he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth) 

That true to nature's fervid feelings ran; 
(And song is but the eloquence of truth:) 
Then forth uprose that lone way -faring man; 
But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan 

8 From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriant 
presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels 
through the desert often find a draught of dew purer than any 
other water. 






GERTRUDE OF WYOMING I33 

In woods requir'd, whose trained eye was keen 
As eagle of the wilderness, to scan 
His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine, 
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green. 

XXVIII. 

Old Albert saw him from the valley's side— 

His pirogue launch'd — his pilgrimage begun — 
Far,, like the red-bird's wing he seem'd to glide; — 
Then div'd, and vanish'd in the woodlands dun. 
Oft, to that spot by tender memory won, 
Would Albert climb the promontory's height, 
If but a dim sail glimmer'd in the sun; 
But neve,r more, to bless his longing sight, 
Was Outalissi hail'd, with bark and plumage bright. 



END OF TART FIKST. 



M 



OERTRUDE 



OF 



WYOMING. 



PART II. 



GERTRUDE 



OF 



WYOMING, 

PART It 

L 

A valley from the river shore withdrawn 
Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between* 
Whose lofty verdure overlook'd his lawn; 
And waters to their resting place serene 
Came freshening, and reflecting all the scene: 
(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves;) 
So sweet a spot of earth, you might, (I ween) 
Have guess'd some congregation of the elves 
To sport by summer moons, had shap'd it for them- 
selves. 



MS 



138 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 



II. 



Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, 
Nor vistas open'd by the wand'ring stream; 
Both where at evening Allegany views, 
Through ridges burning in her western beam, 
Lake after lake interminably gleam: 
And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam. 
Where earth's unliving silence all would seem; 
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, 
Or buffalo remote low'd far from human home. 



III. 

But silent not that adverse eastern path, 
Which saw Aurora's hills th' horizon crown; 
There was the river heard, in bed of wrath, 
(A precipice of foam from mountains brown,) 
Like tumults heard from some far distant town; 
But soft'ning in approach he left his gloom, 
And murmur'd pleasantly, and laid him down 
To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom, 
That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING, 139 

IV. 

It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had 

On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own 

Inspir'd those eyes affectionate and glad, 

That seem'd to love whate'er they look'd upon; 

Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, 

Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast, 

(As if for heavenly musing meant alone;) 

Yet so becomingly th 5 expression past, 

That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last* 

V. 

Nor guess I was that Pennsylvanian home, 

With all its picturesque and balmy grace, 

And fields that were a luxury to roam, 

Lost on the soul that iook'd from such a face! 

Enthusiast of the woods! when years apace 

Had bcund thy lovely waist with woman's zone, 

The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace 

To hills with high magnolia overgrown, 

And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone. 



140 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

VI. 

The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth? 
That thus apostrophiz'd its viewless scene: 
1 Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! 
i The home of kindred I have never seen! 

* We know not other — oceans are between; 

c Yet say! far friendly hearts from whence we came 5 

6 Of us does oft remembrance intervene! 

1 My mother sure-— my sire a thought may claim;— 

< But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name. 

VII. 

i And yet, lov'd England! when thy name I trace 

i In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, 
4 How can I choose but wish for one embrace 
1 Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong 
i My mother's looks,~perhaps her likeness strong? 

* Oh parent! with what reverential awe, 

< From features of thine own related throng, 
1 An image of thy face my soul could draw! 

* And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw!' 



GERTRUDE OT WYOMING. 141 

VIII. 

Yet deem not Gertrude sigh'd for foreign joy; 
To sooth a father's couch her only care, 
And keep his rev'rend head from all annoy: 
For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair, 
Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair; 
While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew, 
While boatman carrol'd to the fresh-blown air, 
And woods a horizontal shadow threw, 
And early fox appear'd in momentary view. 

IX. 

Apart there was a deep untrodden grot, 

Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore; 

Tradition had not nam'd its lonely spot; 

But here (methinks) might Indians' sons explore 

Their fathers' dust, 9 or lift, perchance, of yore. 

Their voice to the great Spirit: — rocks sublime 

To human art a sportive semblance bore, 

And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime, 

Like moonlight battlements, and towers decay'd by time, 

9 It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their 
ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, who have been 
buried for upwards of a century, 



142 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

X. 

But high in amphitheatre above, 
His arms the everlasting aloes threw: 
Breath'd but an air of heav'n, and all the grove 
As if with instinct living spirit grew, 
Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue; 
And now suspended was the pleasing din, 
Now from a murmur faint it swelled anew, 
Like the first note of organ heard within 
Cathedral aisles, — ere yet its symphony begin, 

XL 

It was in this lone valley she would charm 
The ling'ring noon, where fiow'rs a couch had strown; 
Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm 
On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown: 
And aye that volume on her lap is thrown, 
Which every heart of human mould endears; 
With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, 
And no intruding visitation fears, 

To shame th 3 unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest 
tears. 



GERTRUDE OF, WYOMING. 143 

XII. 

And nought within the grove was heard or seen 
But stock-doves plaining through its gloom profound. 
Or winglet of the fairy humming bird, 
Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round; 
When lo! there enter'd to its inmost ground 
A youth, the stranger of a distant land; 
He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound; 
But late th 5 equator suns his cheek had tann'd, 
And California's gales his roving bosom fann'd. 

XIII. 
A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, 
He led dismounted; ere his leisure pace, 
Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm, 
Close he had come, and worshipp'd for a space 
Those downcast features: — she her lovely face 
Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame 
Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace: 
Iberian seem'd his boot— his robe the same, 
And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became. 



144 GERTRUDE OP WYOMING 

XIV. 

For Albert's home he sought — her finger fair 

Has pointed where the father's mansion stood. 

Returning from the copse he soon was there; 

And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green wood; 

Nor joyless, by the converse, understood 

Between the man of age and pilgrim young, 

That gay congeniality of mood, 

And early liking from acquaintance sprung: 

Full fluently convers'd their guest in England's tongue. 

xv/ 

And well could he his pilgrimage of taste 

Unfold, — and much they lov'd his fervid strain, 

While he each fair variety re-trac'd 

Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main: 

Now happy Switzer's hills, — romantic Spain, — 

Gay lilied fields of France,— or, more refin'd, 

The soft Ausonia's monumental reign; 

Nor less each rural image he design'd, 

Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind. 



GERTRUDE OF .WYOMING. 145 

XVl/ 

Anon some wilder portraiture he draws; 

Of Nature's savage glories he would speak, — 

The loneliness of earth that overawes,— 

Where, resting by some tomb of old cacique, 

The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak, 

Nor living voice nor motion marks around; 

But storks that to the boundless forest shriek,. 

Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound, 10 

That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado sound. — 

XVII. 

Pleas'd with his guest, the good man still would ply- 
Each earnest question, and his converse court; 
But Gertrude, as she ey'd him, knew not why 
A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short. 
4 In England thou hast been, — and, by report, 
4 An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have knowm 
4 Sad tale! — when latest fell our frontier fort, — 

10 The bridges over narrow streams in many parts of Spanish 
America are said to be built of cane, which, however strong to 
support the passenger, are yet waved in the agitation of the 
storm, and frequently add to the effect of a mountainous and 
picturesque scenery. 

N 



146 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

c One innocent — one soldier's child — alone 

c Was spared, and brought to me, who lov'd him as my 
own. — 

XVIII. 

< Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful years 
6 These very walls his infant sports did see; 

* But most I lov'd him when his parting tears 

4 Alternately bedew'd my child and me: 

c His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; 

< Nor half its grief his little heart could hold: 

< By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea, 

c They tore him from us when but twelve years old, 
' And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consol'd.'— 

XIX. 

His face the wand'rer hid, — but could not hide 

A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell; — 

1 And speak, mysterious stranger!' (Gertrude cried) 

4 It is! — it is! — I knew — I knew him well! 

< 'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to tell!* 
A burst of joy the father's lips declare; 

But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell: 

At once his open arms embrac'd the pair, 

Was never group more blest, in this wide world of care, 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 147 

XX. 

* And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) 

4 Your Waldegrave's feigned name, and false attire? 

1 I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth, . 

4 The very fortunes of your house inquire; 

4 Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire 

1 Impart, and I my weakness all betray; 

4 For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire, 

4 I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day, 

6 Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass away. 

XXI. 

4 But here ye live, — ye bloom, — in each dear face 

4 The changing hand of time I may not blame; 

1 For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace, 

4 And here, of beauty perfected the frame; 

4 And well I know your hearts are still the same,— 

4 They could not change— ye look the very way, 

4 As when an orphan first to you I came. 

4 And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray? 

v Nay, wherefore weep we, friends, on such a joyous day:' 



148 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XXII. 

' And art thou here? or is it but a dream? 

' And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us more?-*- ? 
6 No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem 
i Than aught on earth — than ev'n thyself of yore — 
* I will not part thee from thy father's shore; 
; But we shall cherish him ^with mutual arms, 
c And hand in hand again the path explore, 
' Which every ray of young remembrance warms, 
4 While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and 
charms.' 

XXIII. 

At morn, as if beneath a galaxy 
Of over-arching groves in blossoms white, 
Where all was od'rous scent and harmony, 
And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight: 
There if, oh gentle love! I read aright, 
The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond, 
'Twas list'ning to these accents of delight, 
She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond 
Expression's pow'r to paint, all languishingly fond. 



GERTRUDE. OF WYOMING. 149 

XXIV. 

♦ Flow'r of my life, so lovely, and so lone! 

• Whom I would rather in this desert meet, 

1 Scorning, and scorn'd by fortune's pow'r, than own 

4 Her pomp and splendors lavish'd at my feetl 

1 Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite 

1 Than odours cast on heavVs own shrine — to please— 

* Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet, 

( And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze, 
4 When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas.' 

XXV. 

Then would that home admit them — happier far 

Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, 

While, here and there, a solitary star 

Flush'd in the darkening firmament of June; 

And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon. 

Ineffable, which I may not portray; 

For never did the Hymenean moon 

A paradise of hearts more sacred sway, 

In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray. 

END OF PART SECOND, 



N2 



GERTRUDE 



OF 



WYOMING. 



PART III. 



GERTRUDE 



GF 



WYOMING. 

PART III. 

I. 

O Love! in such a wilderness as this. 

Where transport and security entwine, 

Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, 

And here thou art a god indeed divine. 

Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine 

The views, the walks, that boundless joy inspire! 

Roll on, ye days of raptur'd influence, shine! 

Nor blind with ecstacy's celestial fire, 

Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time expire. 



154 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

II. 

Three little moons, how short, amidst the grove,, 

And pastoral savannas they consume! 

While she, beside her buskin'd youth to rove, 

Delights, in fancifully wild costume, 

Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; 

And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare; 

But not to chase the deer in forest gloom; 

'Tis but the breath of heav'n — the blessed air — 

And interchange of hearts unknown, unseen to share. 

III. 

What though the sportive dog oft round them note, 

Or fawn, or wild bird bursting on the wing; 
Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote 
To death those gentle throats that wake the spring; 
Or writhing from the brook its victim bring? 
No! — nor let fear one little warbler rouse; 
But, fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them sing, 
Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs, 
That shade ev'n now her love, and witness'd first her 
vows. 






GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. i$ 5 

IV. 

Now labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce, 
Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground, 
Where welcome hills shut out the universe, 
And pines their lawny walk encompass round; 
There, if a pause delicious converse found, 
'Twas but when o'er each heart th' idea stole, 
(Perchance awhile in joy's oblivion drown'd) 
That come what may, while life's glad pulses roll, 
Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul. 

V. 

And in the visions of romantic youth. 

What years of endless bliss are yet to flow! 

But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth! 

The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below! 

And must I change my song? and must I show, 

Sweet Wyoming! the day, when thou wert doom'd, 

Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bow'rs laid low! 

When where of yesterday a garden bloom'd, 

Death overspread his pall, and black'ning ashes gloom'd. 



156 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

VI. 

Sad was the year, by proud oppression driv'n, 

When transatlantic Liberty arose, 

Not in the sunshine, and the smile of heav'n, 

But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes: 

Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes, 

Her birth star was the light of burning plains; 11 

Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows 

From kindred hearts — the blood of British veins— 

And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains. 

VII. 

Yet, ere the storm of death had rag'd remote, 

Or siege unseen, in heav'n reflects its beams, 
Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note, 
That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts, and nightly dreams: 
Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams 
Portentous light! and Music's voice is dumb; 
Save where the fife its shriil reveille screams, 
Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum, 
That speaks of mad'ning strife, and bloodstain'd fields 
to come. 

1 1 Alluding to the miseries that attended the American civil 
war. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. l57 

VIII. 

It was in truth a momentary pang; 

Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe! 

First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang, 

A husband to the battle doom'd to gol 

' Nay, meet not thou,' (she cries,) ' thy kindred foe! 

i But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand!' — 

i Ah, Gertrude! thy beloved heart, I know 

; Would feel like mine, the stigmatizing brand, 

' Could I forsake the cause of freedom's holy band! 

IX. 

k But shame — but flight — a recreant's name to prove, 
' To hide in exile ignominious fears; • 

! Say, ev'n if this I brook'd, the public love 
1 Thy father's bosom to his home endears: 
* And how could I his few remaining years, 
1 My Gertrude, sever from so dear a child?' 
So, day by day, her boding heart he cheers; 
At last that heart to hope is half beguil'd, 
And pale through tears suppress'd the mournful beauty 
smil'd. 



O 



158 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

X. 

Night came,— and in their lighted bow'r, full late ? 

The joy of converse had endur'd-— when hark! 

Abrupt and loud, a summons shook their gate; 

And heedless of the dog's obstreperous bark, 

A form has rush'd amidst them from the dark, 

And spread his arms, — and fell upon the floor: 

Of aged strength his limbs retain'd the mark; 

But desolate he look'd, and famish'd poor, 

As ever shipwreck'd wretch lone left on desert shore. 

XI. 

Upris'n, each wond'ring brow is knit and arch'd: 

A spirit from the dead they deem him first: 
To speak he tries; but quivering, pale, and parch'd 
From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed, 
Emotions unintelligible burst; 
And long his filmed eye is red and dim$ 
At length the pity-proffer 'd cup his thirst 
Had half assuaged, and nerv'd his shuddering limb, 
When Albert's hand he grasp'd ;— -but Albert knew not 
him — 



GERTRUDE C WYOMING. J 59 

XII. 
• And hast thou then forgot,' (he cried forlorn, 
And ey'd the group with half indignant air) 
4 Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn 
fe When 1 with thee the cup of peace did share? 
' Then stately was this head, and dark this hair, 
6 That now is white as Appalachia's snow; 
1 But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair, 
c And age hath bow'd me, and the tort'ring foe, 
4 Bring me my boy — and he will his deliverer know!' — 

XIII. 
It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, 
Ere Henry to his lov'd Oneyda flew: 
i Bless thee, my guide!' — but, backward, as he came, 
The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew. 
And grasp'd his arm, and look'd and look'd him through. 
'Twas strange- — nor could the group a smile control — 
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view: — 
At last delight o'er all his features stole, 
< It is — my own,' he cried, and clasp'd him to his soul 



160 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XIV. 

i Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then 
6 The bowstring of my spirit was not slack, 
i When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd men. 
' I bore thee like the quiver on my back, 
c Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack; 
4 Nor foemen then, nor cougar's crouch I fear'd, 12 
4 For I was strong as mountain cataract: 
4 And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd 
; Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts ap- 
pear'd? 

XV. 

< Then welcome be my death-song, and my death! 

' Since I have seen thee, and again embrac'd.' 

And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath; 

But, with affectionate ana eager haste, 

Was every arm outstretch'd around their guest, 

To welcome, and to bless his aged head. 

Soon was the hospitable banquet plac'd; 

And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed 

On wounds with fever'd joy that more profusely bled, 

12 Cougar, the American tiger 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 161 

XVI. 

< But this is not a time,' — he started up, 

And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand— 

4 This is no time to fill the joyous cup, 

1 The Mammoth comes, — the foe,— the Monster 

Brandt, 13 — 
i With all his howling desolating band; — 

* These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine 

• Awake at once, and silence half your land. 

1 Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: 

i Awake, and watch to night! or see no morning shine!' 

XVII. 

1 Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, 

4 'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth: 

4 Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe 

i Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth: 

1 No! not the dog, that watch'd my household hearth, 

4 Esca./d, that night of blood, upon our plains! 

1 All perish'd! — I alone am left on earth! 

i To whom nor relative nor blood remains, 

1 No! — not a kindred drop that runs in human veins! 

13 Brandt was the leader of those Mohawks, and other sava- 
who laid waste this part of Pennsylvania. — Vide the note 
at the end of this poem. 

O 2 



162 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 

XVIII. 
c But go! — and rouse your warriors; — for, if right 
c These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs 
c Of strip'd and starred banners, on yon height 
< Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines — 
c Some fort embattled by your country shines: 
* Deep roars th' innavigable gulf below 
1 Its squared rock, and palisaded lines. 
c Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show; 
' Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the foe!' 

XIX. 

Scarce had he utter'd, — when heav'n's verge extreme 

Reverberates the bomb's descending star, — 

And sounds that mingled laugh, — and shout, — and 

scream, 
To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar, 
Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war. 
Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assail'd; 
As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar; 
While rapidly the marksman's shot prevail'd;— 
Arid aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet wail'd.— 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 163 

XX. 

Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung 
The bandit groups, in one Vesuvian glare; 
Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock unrung, 
Told legible that midnight of despair. 
She faints, — she falters not, — th' heroic fair, — 
As he the sword and plume in haste array 'd. 
One short embrace — he clasp'd his dearest care — 
But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade? 
Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through the 
shade! 

XXI. 

Then came of every race the mingled swarm, 

Far rung the groves, and gleam'd the midnight grass 

With flambeau, javelin, and nuked arm; 

As warriors wheePd their culverins of brass, 

Sprung from the woods, <x bold athletic mass, 

Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines: 

And first the wild Moravian yagers pass, 

His plumed host the dark Iberian joins — 

And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle shines, 



104 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XXII. 

And in, the buskin'd hunters of the deer, 

To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng:— 

Rotu'd by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer, 

Old Outalissi woke his battle song, 

And, beating with his war-club cadence strong, 

Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts, 

Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long, 

To whet a dagger on their stony hearts, 

And smile aveng'd ere yet his eagle spirit parts. — 

XXIII. 

Calm, opposite the Christian father rose, 

Pale on his venerable brow its rays 

Of martyr light the conflagration throws; 

One hand upon his lovely child he lays, 

And one th' uncovered crowd to silence sways; 

While, though the battle flash is faster driv'n,— 

Unaw'd, with eye unstartled by the blaze, 

He for his bleeding country prays to Heav'n, — 

Prays that the men of blood themselves may be forgiven. 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 165 

XXIV. 

Short time is now for gratulating speech; 

And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began 

Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach, 

Look'd not on thee the rudest partizan 

With brow relax'd to love! And murmurs ran 

As round and round their willing ranks they drew, 

From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van. 

Grateful, on them a placid look she threw, 

Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu! 

XXV. 

Past was the flight, and welcome seem'd the tow'r, 

That like a giant standard-bearer, frown'd 

Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r. 

Beneath, each bold and promontory mound 

With embrasure emboss'd, and armour crown'd, 

And arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin, 

Wove like a diadem its tracery round 

The lofty summit of that mountain green; 

Here stood secure the group, and ey'd a distant scene. 



166 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XXVI. 

A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun, 

And blended arms, and white pavilions glow; 

And for the business of destruction done, 

Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow. 

There, sad spectatress of her country's woe! 

The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, 

Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands of snow 

On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm 

Enclos'd, that felt her heart, and hush'd its wild alarm! 

XXVII. 

But short that contemplation — sad and short 

The pause that bid each much-lov'd scene adieu! 

Beneath the very shadow of the fort, 

Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew; 

Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew 

Was near? — yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds, 

Gleam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view, 

The ambush'd foeman's eye— his volley speeds, 

And Albert — Albert — fails! the dear old father bleeds! 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 167 

XXVIII. 

And tranc'd in giddy horror Gertrude swoon'd; 
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, 
Say, burst they, borrow'd from her father' wounds, 
These drops? — Oh God! the life-blood is her own; 
And falt'ring, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown — 
i Weep not, O Love!' — she cries, 'to see me bleed — 
1 Thee. Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone — 
6 Heav'n's peace commiserate; for scarce I heed 
c These wounds; — yet thee to leave is death, is death 
indeed. 

XXIX. 

< Clasp me a little longer, on the brink 

i Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress; 

{ And when this heart hath ceas'dtobeat — oh! think, 

< And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, 

* That thou hast been to me all tenderness, 

i And friend to more than human friendship just. 

i Oh! by that retrospect of happiness, 

c And by the hopes of an immortal trust, 

c God shall assuage thy pangs — when I am laid in dust! 



168 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

XXX. 

i Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart, 

c The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, 

c Where my dear father took thee to his heart, 

< And Gertrude thought it ecstacy to rove 

1 With thee, as with an angel, through the grove 
1 Of peace, — imagining her lot was cast 

< In heav'n; for ours was not like earthly love. 
i And must this parting be our very last? 

4 No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.— 

XXXI. 

i Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth,— 
i And thee, more loved, than aught beneath the sua* 
i Jf I had liv'd to smile but on the birth 

< Of one dear pledge;— but shall there then be none, 

< In future times — no gentle little one, 

* To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me! 
6 Yet seems it, ev'n while life's last pulses run, 

* A sweetness in the cup of death to be, 

1 Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee!' 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 159 

XXXII. 

Hush'd were his Gertrude's lips! but still their bland 
And beautiful expression seem'd to melt 
With love that could not die! and still his hand 
She presses to the heart no more that felt. 
Ah heart! where once each fond affection dwelt. 
And features yet that spoke a soul more fair. 
Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt,— 
Of them that stood encircling his despair, 
He heard some friendly words; — but knew not what they 
were. 

XXXIII. 
For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives 
A faithful band. With solemn rites between, 
'Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives, 
And in their deaths had not divided been, 
Touch'd by the music, and the melting scene, 
Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd: — . 
Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen 
To veil their eyes, as pass'd each much-lov'd shroud— 
While woman's softer soul in woe dissolv'd aloud. 






. 



Ifo GERTRUDE OF WYOMING, 

XXXIV. 

Then mournfully the parting bugle bid 

Its farewel o'er the grave of worth and truth; 

Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid 

His face an earth; — him watch'd in gloomy ruth, 

His woodland guide: but words had none to sooth 

The grief that knew not consolation's name: 

Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth, 

He watch'd, beneath its folds, each burst that came 

Convulsive, ague-like across his shuddering frame! 

XXXV. 

6 And I could weep; 5 — th' Oneyda chief 
His descant wildly thus begun; 

< But that I may not stain with grief 
1 The death-song of my father's son! 
' Or bow this head in woe; 

4 For by my wrongs, and by my wrath! 

* To-morrow Areouski's breath, 

' (That fires yon heav'n with storms of death,) 

< Shall light us to the foe: 

< And we shall share, my Christian boy! 

< The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy! 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 1 71 

XXXVI. 

But thee, my flow'r, whose breath was giv'n 

Byanilder genii o'er the deep, 

The spirits of the white man's heav'n 

Forbid not thee to weep:— r 

Nor will the Christian host, 

Nor will thy father's spirit grieve 

To see thee, on the battle's eve, 

Lamenting take a mournful leave 

Of her who lov'd thee most: 

She was the rainbow to thy sight! 

Thy sun — thy heav'n— of lost delight!— 

XXXVII. 

To-morrow let us do or die! 

But when the bolt of death is hurl'd, 

Ah! whither then with thee to fly, 

Shall Outalissi roam the world? 

Seek we thy once-lov'd home? — 

The hand is gone that cropt its flowers: 

Unheard their clock repeats its hours! 

Cold is the hearth within their bow'rs! 

And should we thither roam, 

Its echoes, and its empty tread, 

Would sound like voices from the dead*. 






172 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING 

XXXVIIL 

* Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, 

4 Whose streams my kindred nation quafFd; 

4 And by my side, in battle true, 

c A thousand warriors drew the shaft? 

i Ah! there in desolation cold 5 

4 The desert serpent dwells alone, 

c Where grass o'ergrows each mould'ring bone? 

4 And stones themselves to ruin grown, 

< Like me, are death-like old. 

4 Then seek we not their camp — for there— » 

4 The silence dwells of my despair! 

XXXIX. 

• But hark, the trump! — to-morrow thou 
- 4 In glory's fires shajt dry thy tears: 

4 Even from the land of shadows now 

4 My father's awful ghost appears, 

4 Amidst the clouds that round us roll; 

4 He bids my soul for battle thirst — 

4 He bids me dry the last — the first — • 

4 The only tears that ever burst 

4 From Outalissi's soul; 

4 Because I may not stain with grief 

4 The death-song of an Indian chief.' 

END OF PART THIRD. 



NOTES. 

PART L 

Stanza 3. 1. 6. 
From merry mock-bird's song. 
1 HE mockingbird is of the form, but larger, than 
the thrush; and the colours are a mixture of black, 
white, and gray. What is said of the nightingale, by 
its greatest admirers, is, what may with more pro- 
priety apply to this bird, who, in a natural state, sings 
with very superior taste. Towards evening I have 
heard one begin softly, reserving its breath to swell 
certain notes, which, by this means, had a most 
astonishing effect. A gentleman in London had one 
of these birds for six years. During the space of a 
minute he was heard to imitate the woodlark, chaf- 
finch, blackbird, thrush, and sparrow. In this country 
(America) I have frequently known the mocking- 
birds so engaged in this mimickry, that it was with 
much difficulty I could ever obtain an opportunity of 
hearing their own natural note. Some go so far as to 
say, that they have neither peculiar notes, nor fa- 
vourite imitations. This may be denied. Their few 
natural notes resemble those of the (European) night- 

P2 



174 GERTRUDE GF WYOMING. 

ingale. Their song, however, has a greater compass 
and volume than the nightingale, and they have the 
faculty of varying all intermediate notes in a manner 
which is truly delightful. — Ashe's Travels in Ame- 
rica, Vol. II. p. 73. 

Stanza 5. 1. 9. 
Or distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan roar. 
The Corybrechtan, or Corbrechtan, is a whirlpool 
on the western coast of Scotland, near the island of 
Jura, which is heard at a prodigious distance. Its 
name signifies the whirlpool of the prince of Den- 
mark; and there is a tradition that a Danish prince 
once undertook, for a wager, to cast anchor in it. 
He is said to have used woollen instead of hempen 
ropes, for greater strength, but perished in the at- 
tempt. On the shores of Argyleshire I have often 
listened with great delight to the sound of this vortex, 
at the distance of many leagues. When the weather 
is calm, and the adjacent sea scarcely heard on these 
picturesque shores, its sound, which is like the sound 
of innumerable chariots, creates a magnificent and 
fine effect. 

Stanza IS. 1. 4. 

Of bus kin 9 d limb and swarthy lineament. 

In the Indian tribes there is a great similarity in 

their colour, stature, &c. They are all, except the 

Snake Indians, tall in stature, straight and robust. It. 



NOTES OX PART I ^5 

is very seldom they are deformed, which has given 
vise to the supposition that they put to death their 
deformed children. Their skin is of a copper colour; 
their eyes large, bright black, and sparkling, indica- 
tive of a subtle and discerning mind: their hair is 
of the same colour, and prone to long, seldom or 
never curled. Their teeth are large and white; I 
never observed any decayed among them, which 
makes their breath as sweet as the air they inhale. — 
Travels through America by Captains Lewis and 
Clarke, in 1804-5-6. 

Stanza 14. 1. 6. 
Peace be to thee — my ivords this belt a/ifirove. 
The Indians of North America accompany every 
formal address to strangers, with whom they form or 
recognise a treaty of amity, with a present of a 
string, or belt, of wampum. Wampum (says Cad- 
wallader Colden) is made of the large whelk shell. 
Briccinum, and shaped like long beads: it is the 
current money of the Indians. — History of the five 
Indian Nations, page 34. New-York edition. 

Stanza 14. 1. 7. 
The fiaths of peace my steps have hither led. 
In relating an interview of Mohawk Indians with 
the ^overnoi- of New-York, Colden quotes the follow- 
ing parage as a specimen of their metaphorical 
manner: u Where shall I seek the chair of peace* 



176 GtfRTRUDB OP WYOMING. 

Where shall I find it but upon our path? and whither 
doth our path lead us but unto this house?" 

Stanza 15. 1. 2. 
Our wamfium league thy brethren did embrace* 
When they solicit the alliance, offensive or defen- 
sive, of a whole nation, they send an embassy with a 
large belt of wampum and a bloody hatchet, inviting 
them to come and drink the blood of their enemies. 
The wampum made use of on these and other occa- 
sions before their acquaintance with the Europeans, 
was nothing but small shells which they picked up 
by the sea-coasts, and on the banks of the lakes; and 
now it is nothing but a kind of cylindrical beads, 
made of shells, white and black, which are esteemed 
among them as silver and gold are among us. The 
black they call the most valuable, and both together 
are their greatest riches and ornaments; these among 
them answering all the end that money does amongst 
us. They have the art of stringing, twisting, and 
interweaving them into their belts, collars, blankets, 
and mocasins, &c. in ten thousand different sizes, 
forms, and figures, so as to be ornaments for every 
part of dress, and expressive to them of all their im- 
portant transactions. They dye the wampum of 
various colours and shades, and mix and dispose them 
with great ingenuity and order, and so as to be 
significant among themselves of almost every thing 
they please; so that by these their words are kept? 



NOTES ON. PART I. I77 

and their thoughts communicated to one another, as 
ours are by writing. The belts that pass from one 
nation to another in all treaties, declarations, and 
important transactions, are very carefully preserved 
in the cabins of their chiefs, and serve not only as a 
kind of record or history, but as a public treasure. — 
Major Rogers's account of North America. 

Stanza 17. 1. 5. 
As when the evil Manitou. 

It is certain that the Indians acknowledge one su- 
preme being, or giver of life, who presides over all 
things; that is the great Spirit: and they look up to 
him as the source of good, from whence no evil can 
proceed. They also believe in a bad Spirit, to whom 
they ascribe great power; and suppose that through 
his power all the evils which befall mankind are in- 
flicted. To him therefore they pray in their distresses, 
begging that he would either avert their troubles, or 
moderate them when they are no longer avoidable. 

They hold also that there are good Spirits of a low- 
er degree, who have their particular departments, in 
which they are constantly contributing to the happi- 
ness of mortals. These they suppose to preside over all 
the extraordinary productions of Nature, such as those 
lakes, rivers, and mountains that are of an uncommon 
magnitude; and likewise the beasts, birds, fishes, and 
even vegetables or stones that exceed the rest of their 



1 yg GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

species in size or singularity.-— Clarke's Travels 
among the Indians. 

The supreme Spirit of good is called by the Indians 
Kitchi Manitou; and the Spirit of evil Matchi Mani- 
tou. 

Stanza 19.1.2. 
Feverbalm and sweet sagamite. 
The feverbalm is a medicine used by these tribes; 
it is a decoction of a bush called the Fever-tree. Sa- 
gamite is a kind of soup administered to their sick. 

Stanza 20. 1. 1. 
And /, the eagle of my tribe y have rushed 
With this lorn dove. — 
The testimony of all travellers among the Ameri- 
can Indians, who mention their hieroglyphics, author- 
ises me in putting this figurative language in the mouth 
of Outalissi. The dove is among them, as elsewhere, 
an emblem of meekness; and the eagle, that of a bold, 
noble, and liberal mind. When the Indians speak of a 
warrior who soars above the multitude in person and 
endowments, they say, " he is like the eagle who de- 
stroys his enemies, and gives protection and abundance 
te the weak of his own tribe." 



XOTES ON PART I. 179 

Stanza 23. 1. 2. 
Far differently the mute Oneyda took, isfc. 

They are extremely circumspect and deliberate in 
every word and action; nothing hurries them into any 
intemperate wrath, but that inveteracy to their ene- 
mies which is rooted in every Indian's breast. In all 
other instances they are cool and deliberate, taking 
care to suppress the emotions of the heart. If an In- 
dian has discovered that a friend of his is in danger 
of being cut off by a lurking enemy, he does not tell 
him of his danger in direct terms as though he were 
in fear, but he first coolly asks him which way he is 
going that day, and having his answer with the same in- 
difference, tells him that he has been informed that a 
noxious beast lies on the rout he is going. This hint 
proves sufficient, and his friend avoids the danger with 
as much caution as though every design and motion 
of his enemy had been pointed out to him. 

If an Indian has been engaged for several days in 
the chase, and by accident continued long without 
food, when he arrives at the hut of a friend, where he 
knows that his wants will be immediately supplied, he 
takes care not to show the least symptoms of impa- 
tience, or betray the extreme hunger that he is tor- 
tured with; but on being invited in, sits contentedly 
down and smokes his pipe with as much composure 
as if his appetite was cloyed and he was perfectly at 
ease. He does the same if among strangers. This cus- 
tom is strictly adhered to b ; every tribe, as they esteem 



1 30 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

it a proof of fortitude, and think the reverse would en- 
title them to the appellation of old women. 

If you tell an Indian that his children have greatly 
signalized themselves against an enemy, have taken 
many scalps, and brought home many prisoners, he 
does not appear to feel any strong emotions of plea- 
sure on the occasion; his answer generally is — ." they 
have done well," and makes but very little inquiry 
about the matter; on the contrary, if you inform him 
that his children are slain or taken prisoners, he makes 
no complaints: he only replies, " it is unfortunate;' 5 
— and for some time asks no questions about how it 
happened. — Lewis and Clarke's Travels. 

Stanza 23. 1.2. 
His calumet of fit ace, \Stc. 
Nor is the calumet of less importance or less re- 
vered than the wampum in many transactions relative 
both to peace and war. The bowl of this pipe is made 
of a kind of soft red stone, which is easily wrought 
and hollowed out; the stem is of cane, elder, or some 
kind of light wood, painted with different colours, and 
decorated with the heads, tails, and feathers of the 
most beautiful birds. The use of the calumet is to 
smoke either tobacco or some bark, leaf, or herb, 
which they often use instead of it, when they enter into 
an alliance or any serious occasion or solemn engage- 
ments; this being among them the most sacred oath 
that Can be taken, the violation of which is esteemed 



NOTES OX PARTI. 181 

uiost infamous, and deserving of severe punishment 
from Heaven. When they treat of war, the whole pipe 
and ail its ornaments are red: sometimes it is red only 
on one side, and by the disposition of the feathers. Sec. 
one acquainted with their customs will know at first 
sight what the nation who presents it intends or de- 
sires. Smoking the calumet is also a religious cere- 
mony on some occasions, and in all treaties is consid- 
ered as a witness between the parties, or rather as an 
instrument by which they invoke the sun and moon to 
witness their sincerity, and to be as it were a guarantee 
of the treaty between them. This custom of the In- 
dians, though to appearance somewhat ridiculous, is 
not without its reasons; for as they find that smoking 
tends to disperse the vapours of the brain, to raise the 
spirits, and to qualify them for thinking and judging 
properly, they introduced it into their councils, where, 
after their resolves, the pipe was considered as a seal 
of their decrees; and, as a pledge of their performance 
thereof, it was sent to those they were consulting, in 
alliance or treaty with; — so that smoking among them 
at the same pipe, is equivalent to our drinking toge- 
ther and out of the same cup. — Major Roger's Ac- 
count of North America, 1766. 

The lighted calumet is also used among them for 
a purpose still more interesting thati the expression 
of social friendship. The austere manners of the In- 
dians forbid any appearance of gallantry ! itv/een the 

Q 



1S 2 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

sexes in day-time; but at night the young lover goes 
a calumetting, as his courtship is called. As these 
people live in a state of equality, and without fear of 
internal violence or theft in their own tribes, they 
leave their doors open by night as well as by day. 
The lover takes advantage of this liberty, lights his 
calumet, enters the cabin of his mistress, and gently 
presents it to her. If she extinguishes it, she admits 
his addresses; but if she suffer it to burn unnoticed, 
he retires with a disappointed and throbbing heart.— 
Ashe's Travels. 

Stanza 23. L 6. 
Trained from his tree-rock' d cradle to his bier. 
An Indian child, as soon as he is born, is swathed 
with clothes, or skins, and being laid on its back, is 
bound down on a piece of thick board, spread over 
with soft moss. The board is somewhat larger and 
broader than the child, and bent pieces of wood, like 
pieces of hoops, are placed over its face to protect it; 
so that if the machine were suffered to fall, the child 
probably would not be injured. When the women have 
any business to transact at home they hang the board 
on a tree, if there be one at hand, and set them a swing- 
ing from side to side, like a pendulum, in order to 
exercise the children. — Weld, Vol. II. p. 246. 



NOTES OX PART I. 183 

Stanza 23.1.7. 
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook 
Impassive— 

Of the active as well as the passive fortitude of the 
Indian character, the following is an instance related 
by Adair in his travels. 

A party of the Seneka Indians came to war against 
the Katahba, bitter enemies to each other. — In the 
woods the former discovered a sprightly warrior be* 
longing to the latter, hunting in their usual light dress: 
on his perceiving them, he sprung off for a hollow 
rock four or five miles distant, as they intercepted him 
from running homeward. He was so extremely swift 
and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them in 
the running fight before they were able to surround 
and take him. They carried him to their country in 
sad triumph; but though he had filled them with un- 
common grief and shame for the loss of so many of 
their kindred, yet the love of martial virtue induced 
them to treat him, during their long journey, with a 
great deal more civility than if he had acted the part 
of a coward. The women and children when they met 
him at their several towns beat and whipped him in as 
severe a manner as the occasion required, according 
to their law of justice, and at last he was formally con- 
demned to die by the fiery torture. — It might reason- 
ably be imagined that what he had for some time gone 
through, by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious 
march, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to 



134 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

the changes of the weather, with his arms and legs ex* 
tended in a pair of rough stocks, and suffering such 
punishment on his entering into their hostile towns, 
as a prelude to those sharp torments for which he was 
destined, would have so impaired his health and af- 
fected his imagination as to have sent him to his long 
sleep* out of the way of any more sufferings.-^-Proba- 
bly this would have been the case with the major part 
of white people under similar circumstances; but I 
never knew this with any of the Indians: and this cool- 
headed, brave warrior did not deviate from their rough 
lessons of martial virtue, but acted his part so well as 
to surprise and sorely vex his numerous enemies: — 
for when they were taking him, unpinionedj in their 
wild parade, to the place of torture, which lay near to 
a liver, he suddenly dashed down those who stood in 
his way, sprung oif, and plunged into the water, swim- 
ming underneath like an otter, only rising to take 
breath till he reached the opposite shore. He now as- 
cended the steep bank, but though he had good reason 
to be in a hurry, as many of the enemy were in the wa- 
ter, and others running, very like bloodhounds, in pur- 
suit of him, and the bullets flying around him from 
the time he took to the river, yet his heart did not al- 
low him to leave them abruptly, without taking leave in 
a formal manner, in return for the extraordinary favours 
they had done, and intended to do him. — After slap- 
ping a part of his body, in defiance to them (continues 
the author), he put up the shrill war-whoop, as his last 



XOTES OS PART t. 185 

salute, till some more convenient opportunity offered, 
and darted off in the manner of a beast broke loose 
from its torturing enemies. — He continued his speed, 
so as to run by about midnight of the same day as far 
as his eager pursuers were two days in reaching. — 
There he rested, till he happily discovered five of those 
Indians who had pursued him: — he lay hid a little way 
off their camp, till they were sound asleep. Every cir- 
cumstance of his situation occurred to him, and in- 
spired him with heroism. — He was naked, torn and 
hungry, and his enraged enemies were come up with 
him; — but there was now every thing to relieve his 
wants, and a fair opportunity to save his life, and get 
great honour and sweet revenge by cutting them off. 
Resolution, a convenient spot, and sudden surprise, 
would effect the main object of all his wishes and 
hopes. He accordingly creeped, took one of their to- 
mahawks, and killed them all on the spot — clothed 
himself, took a choice gun, and as much ammunition 
and provisions as he could well carry in a running 
march. He set off afresh with a light heart, and did 
not sleep for several successive nights, only when he 
/eclined, as usual, a little before day, with his back to 
a tree. As it were by instinct, when he found he was 
free from the pursuing enemy, he made directly to the 
very place where he had killed seven of his enemies, 
and was taken by them for the fiery torture. — He dig- 
them up — burnt their bodies to ashes, and went 
Q2 



186 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

home in safety with singular triumph.— Other pursiu- 
ing ; enemies came, on the evening of the second day, 
to the camp of their dead people, when the sight gave 
them a greater shock than they had ever known be- 
fore. In their chilled war council they concluded, that 
as he had done such surprising things in his defence 
before he was captivated, and since that in his naked 
condition, and now was well armed, if they continued 
the pursuit he would spoil them all, for he surely was 
an enemy wizard, — and therefore they returned home, 
— Adair's General Observations on the American In- 
dians, p. 394. 

It is surprising, says the same author, to see the 
long continued speed of the Indians. — Though some 
of us have often ran the swiftest of them out of sight 
for about the distance of twelve miles, yet afterwards, 
without any seeming toil, they would stretch on — = 
leave us out of sight, and outwind any horse. — Ibid, 
p. 318. 

If an Indian were driven out into the extensive 
woods, with only a knife and a tomahawk, or a small 
hatchet, it is not to be doubted but he would fatten 
even where a wolf would starve. — He would soon col- 
lect fire by nibbing two dry pieces of wood together, 
make a bark hut, earthen vessels, and a bow and ar- 
rows; then kill wild game, fish, fresh water tortoises, 
gather a plentiful variety of vegetables., and live in af- 
-ftuen c e . — I bid . p « 410. 



NOTES ON PART I 187 

Stanza 25. 1. 1. 
Sleefi) wearied one! and in the dreaming land 
Shouldst thou the spirit of thy mother greet. 

There is nothing (says Charlevoix) in which these 
barbarians carry their superstitions farther, than in 
what regards dreams; but they vary greatly in their 
manner of explaining themselves on this point. Some- 
times it is the reasonable soul which ranges abroad, 
while the sensitive continues to animate the body. 
Sometimes it is the familiar genius who gives salutary 
counsel with respect to what is going to happen. 
Sometimes it is a visit made by the soul of the object 
of which he dreams. But in whatever manner the 
dream is conceived, it is always looked upon as a thing 
sacred, and as the most ordinary way in which the gods 
make known their will to men. 

Filled with this idea, they cannot conceive how T we 
should pay no regard to them. For the most part they 
look upon them either as a desire of the soul, inspired 
by some genius, or an order from him, and in conse- 
quence of this principle they hold it a religious duty 
to obey them. An Indian having dreamt of having a 
finger cut off, had it really cut off as' soon as he awoke, 
having first prepared himself for this important action 
by a feast. — Another having dreamt of being a pri- 
soner, and in the hands of his enemies, was much at a 
loss what to do. He consulted the jugglers, and by 
their advice caused himself to be tied to a post, and 



188 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

burnt in several parts of the body. — Charlevoix, Jour- 
nal of a voyage to North America. 

Stanza 26. 1. 5. 
The crocodile, the condor of the rock — 
The alligator, or American crocodile, when full 
grown (says Bertram) is a very large and terrible 
creature, and of prodigious strength, activity, and 
swiftness in the water. — I have seen them twenty 
feet in length, and some are supposed to be twenty- 
two or twenty-three feet in length. Their body is as 
large as that of a horse, their shape usually resembles 
that of a lizard, which is flat, or cuneiform, being com- 
pressed on each side, and gradually diminishing from 
the abdomen to the extremity? which, with the whole 
body, is covered with horny plates, of squamae, impe- 
netrable when on the body of the live animal, even to 
a rifle ball, except about their head, and just behind 
their fore-legs or arms, where, it is said, they are only 
vulnerable. The head of a full grown one is about 
three feet, and the mouth opens nearly the same length. 
Their eyes are small in proportion, and seem sunk in 
the head by means of the prominency of the brows; 
the nostrils are large, inflated, and prominent on the 
top, so that the head on the water resembles, at a dis- 
tance, a great chunk of wood floating about: only the 
upper jaw moves, which they raise almost perpendi- 
cular, so as to form a right angle with the lower one. 
In the fore part of the upper jaw, on each side, just 



NOTES OX PART I. 189 

under the nostrils, are two very large, thick, strong 
teeth, or tusks, not very sharp, but rather the shape of 
a cone: these are as white as the finest polished ivory, 
and are not covered by any skin or lips, but always in 
sight, which gives the creature a frightful appearance; 
in the lower jaw are holes opposite to these teeth to 
receive them; when they clap their jaws together, it 
causes a surprising noise, like that which is made by 
forcing a heavy plank with violence upon the ground, 
and may be heard at a great distance. — But what is yet 
more surprising to a stranger is the incredibly loud 
and terrifying roar which they are capable of making, 
especially in breeding time. It most resembles very 
heavy distant thunder, not only shaking the air and 
waters, but causing the earth to tremble; and when 
hundreds are roaring at the same time, you can 
scarcely be persuaded but that the whole globe is vio- 
lently and dangerously agitated. — An old champion, 
who is, perhaps, absolute sovereign of a little lake or 
lagoon, (when fifty less than himself are obliged to con- 
tent themselves with swelling and roaring in little 
coves round about) darts forth from the reedy coverts, 
all at once, on the surface of the waters in a right line, 
at first seemingly as rapid as lightning, but gradually 
more slowly, until he arrives at the centre of the lake, 
where he stops. He now swells himself, by drawing 
in wind and water through his mouth, which causes 
a loud sonorous rattling in the throat for near a minute; 
but it is immediately forced out again through his 



290 GERTRUDE OF WYOMrNS. 

mouth and nostrils with a loud noise, brandishing his 
tail in the air, and the vapour running from his nos- 
trils like smoke. — At other times, when swoln to an 
extent ready to burst, his head and tail lifted up, he 
spins or twirls round on the surface of the water. He 
acts his part like an Indian chief, when rehearsing his 
feats of war. — Bertram's Travels in North America. 

Stanza 28. 1. 4. 
Then forth uprose that lone way -faring man. 
They discover an amazing sagacity, and acquire, 
with the greatest readiness, any thing that depends 
upon the attention of the mind. By experience, and 
an acute observation, they attain many perfections to 
which Americans are strangers. — For instance, they 
will cross a forest, or a plain, which is two hundred 
miles in breadth, so as to reach with great exactness, 
the point at which they intend to arrive, keepipg, 
during the whole of that space, in a direct line, with- 
out any material deviations: and this they will do with 
the same ease, let the weather be fair or cloudy. — 
With equal acuteness they will point to that part of 
the heavens the sun is in, though it be intercepted by 
clouds or fogs. Besides this, they are able to pursue, 
with incredible facility, the traces of man or beast, 
either on leaves or grass; and on this account it is with 
great difficulty they escape discovery. — They are in- 
debted for these talents not only to nature, but to an 
extraordinary command of the intellectual qualities, 



NOTES ON PART I. 191 

which can only be acquired by an unremitted atten- 
tion, and by long experience. — They are in general 
very happy in a retentive memory. They can recapi- 
tulate every particular that has been treated of in coun- 
cil, and remember the exact time when they were 
held. Their belts of wampum preserve the substance 
of the treaties they have concluded with the neigh- 
bouring tribes for ages back, to which they will appeal 
and refer with as much perspicuity and readiness as 
Europeans can to their written records. 

The Indians are totally unskilled in geography, as 
well as all the other sciences, and yet they draw on 
their birch bark very exact charts or maps of the coun- 
tries they are acquainted with. — The latitude and lon- 
gitude only are wanting to make them tolerably com- 
plete. 

Their sole knowledge in astronomy consists in being 
able to point out the polar star, by which they regu- 
late their course when they travel in the night. 

They reckon the distance of places not by miles or 
leagues, but by a day's journey, which, according to the 
best calculation I could make, appears to be about 
twenty English miles. These they also divide into 
halves and quarters, and will demonstrate them in their 
maps with great exactness by the hieroglyphics just 
mentioned, when they regulate in council their war- 
parties, or their most distant hunting v ^ui-sions.-*— 
Clarke's and Lewis's Travels. 

Some of the French missionaries have supposed 






!92 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

that the Indians are guided by instinct, and have pre- 
tended that Indian children can find their way through 
a forest as easily as a person of maturer years; but 
this is a most absurd notion. It is unquestionably by 
a close attention to the growth of the trees, and posi- 
tion of the sun, that they find their way. On the north- 
ern side of a tree there is generally the most moss; 
and the bark on that side, in general, differs from that 
on the opposite one. The branches towards the south 
are, for the most part, more luxuriant than those on 
the other sides of trees, and several other distinctions 
also subsist between the northern and southern sides, 
conspicuous to Indians, being taught from their infan- 
cy to attend to them, which a common observer would, 
perhaps, never notice. Being accustomed from their 
infancy likewise to pay great attention to the position 
of the sun, they learn to make the most accurate al- 
lowance for its apparent moiion from one part of the 
heavens to another; and in every part of the day they 
will point to the part of the heavens where it is, al- 
though the sky be obscured by clouds or mists. 

An instance of their dexterity in finding their way 
through an unknown country came under my observa- 
tion when I was at Staunton, situated behind the Blue 
Mountains, Virginia. A number of the Creek nation 
had arrived at that town on their way to Philadelphia, 
whither they were going upon some affairs of impor- 
tance, and had stopped there for the night. In the 
morning some circumstance or another, which could 



XOTES ON PART I. 193 

not be learned, induced one half of the Indians to set 
off without their companions, who did not follow until 
some hours afterwards. When these last were ready 
to pursue their journey, several of the towns-people 
mounted their horses to escort them part of the way, 
They proceeded along* the high road for some miles, 
but, all at once, hastily turning aside ia"o the woods, 
though there was no path, the Indians advanced confi- 
dently forward. The people who accompanied them, 
surprised at this movement, informed them that they 
were quitting the road to Philadelphia, and expressed 
their fear lest they should miss their companions who 
had gone on before. They answered that they knew 
better, that the way through the woods was the short- 
est to Philadelphia, and that they knew very well that 
their companions had entered tli« woo J .«. the v< 
place where they did. Curiosity led some of the 
horsemen to go on; and, to their astonishment, for 
there was apparently no track, they overtook the other 
Indians in the thickest part of the wood. But what ap- 
peared most singular was, that the route which they 
took was found, on examining a map, to be as direct 
for Philadelphia as if they had taken the bearings by 
a mariner's compass. From others of their nation, who 
had been at Philadelphia at a former period, they had 
probably learned the exact direction of that city from 
their villages, and had never lost sight of it, although 
they had already travelled three hundred miles 

R 



194 GERTRUDE OP WYOMING. 

through the woods, and had upwards of four hundred 
miles more to go before they could reach the place of 
their destination. Of the exactness with which they 
can find out a strange place to which they have been 
once directed by their own people, a striking example 
is furnished, I think, by Mr. Jefferson, in his account 
of the Indian graves in Virginia. These graves are 
nothing more than large mounds of earth in the woods, 
which, on being opened, are found to contain skeletons 
in an erect posture: the Indian mode of sepulture has 
been too often described to remain unknown to you. 
But to come to my story. A party of Indians that were 
passing on to some of the seaports on the Atlantic, 
just as the Creeks, above mentioned, were going to 
Philadelphia, were observed, all on a sudden, to quit 
the straight road by which they were proceeding, and 
without asking any questions, to strike through the 
woods, in a direct line, to one of these graves, which 
lay at the distance of some miles from the road. Now 
very near a century must have passed over since the 
part of Virginia, in which this grave was situated, had 
been inhabited by Indians, and these Indian travellers, 
who were to visit it by themselves, had unquestiona- 
bly never been in that part of the country before: they 
must have found their way to it simply from the de- 
scription of its situation, that had been handed down 
to them by tradition. — Weld's Travels in North 
America, vol. II. 



M OTES. 

PART III. 

Stanza 16.1. 4. 
The Mammoth comes. 
1HAT I am justified in making the Indian chief 
allude to the mammoth as an emblem of terror and 
destruction? will be seen by the authority quoted be- 
low. Speaking of the mammoth, or big buffalo, Mr. 
Jefferson states, that a tradition is preserved among 
the Indians of that animal still existing in the northern 
parts of America. 

" A delegation of warriors from the Delaware tribe 
having visited the governor of Virginia during the 
revolution, on matters of business, the governor asked 
them some questions relative to their country, and, 
among others, what $\zy knew or had heard of the 
animal whose bones were found at the Saltlicks, on 
the Ohio. Their chief speaker immediately put him- 
self into an attitude of oratory, and with a pomp suited 
to what he conceived the elevation of his subject, in- 
formed him, that it was a tradition handed down from 
their fathers, that in ancient times a herd of these 
tremendous animals came to the Bick-bone-iicks, and 
began an universal destruction of the bear, deer, elk, 
buffalo, and other animals which had been created for 






196 



GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 



the use of the Indians. That the great Man above, 
looking down and seeing this, was so enraged, that he 
seized his lightning, descended on the earth, seated 
himself on a neighbouring mountain on a rock, of 
which his seat, and the prints of his feet, are still to 
be seen, and hurled his bolts among them, till the 
whole were slaughtered except the big bull, who pre- 
senting his forehead to the shafts, shook them off as 
they fell, but, missing one at length, it wounded him 
in the side, whereon, springing round, he bounded 
over the Ohio, over the Wabash, the Illinois, and 
finally over the great lakes, where he is living at this 
day." — Jefferson's Notes on Virginia. 









Stanza 17.1. 1. 

Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe , 

'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth. 

This Brandt was a warrior of the Mohawk nation, 

who was engaged to allure by bribes, or to force by 

threats, many Indian tribes to the expedition against 

Pennsylvania. His blood, I believe, was not purely 

Indian, but half German. He disgraced, however, his 

European descent by more than savage ferocity. 

Among many anecdotes which are given of him, the 

following is .extracted from a traveller in America, 

already quoted. " With a considerable body of his 

troops he joined the troops under the command of Sir 

John Johnson. A skirmish took place with a body of 

American troops; the action was warm, and Brandt 



NOTES ON PART I. 197 

was shot by a musket ball in his heel, but the Ameri- 
cans, in the end were defeated, and an officer, with 
sixty men, were taken prisoners. The officer, after 
having delivered up his sword, had entered into con- 
versation with Sir John Johnson, who commanded the 
British troops, and they were talking together in the 
most friendly manner, when Brandt, having stolen 
slily behind them, laid the American officer low with 
a blow of his tomahawk. The indignation of Sir John 
Johnson, as may be readily supposed, was roused by 
such an act of treachery, and he resented it in the 
warmest terms. Brandt listened to him unconcernedly, 
and when he had finished, told him, that he was sorry 
for his displeasure, but that, indeed, his heel was ex- 
tremely painful at the moment, and he could not help 
revenging himself on the only chief of the party that 
he saw taken. Since he had killed the officer, he added, 
his heel was much less painful to him than it had been 
before." — Weld's Travels, vol.11, p. 297. 

Stanza 17. 1. 8 and 9. 

To whom, nor relative nor blood remains^ 

JVb, not a kindred drop that runs in human veins. 

Every one who recollects the specimen of Indian 

eloquence given in the speech of Logan, a Mingo 

chief, to the governor of Virginia, will perceive that 

I have attempted to paraphrase its concluding and 

most striking expression — There runs not a drop of 

my blood in the veins of any living creature. The 

R2 



198 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 

similar salutations of the fictitious personage in my 
story, and the real Indian orator, make it surely allow- 
able to borrow such an expression; and if it appears, 
as it cannot but appear, to less advantage than in the 
original, I beg the reader to reflect how difficult it is 
to transpose such exquisitely simple words, without 
sacrificing a portion of their effect. 

In the spring of 1774, a robbery and murder were 
committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of Vir- 
ginia, by two Indians of the Shawanee tribe. The neigh- 
bouring whites, according to their custom, undertook 
to punish this outrage in a summary manner. Colonel 
Cresap, a man infamous for the many murders he had 
committed on those much injured people, collected a 
party and proceeded down the Kanaway in quest of 
vengeance; unfortunately, a canoe with women and 
children, with one man only, was seen coming from 
the opposite shore unarmed, and unsuspecting an at- 
tack from the whites. Cresap and his party concealed 
themselves on the bank of the river, and the moment 
the canoe reached the shore, singled out their objects, 
and at one fire killed every person in it. This happen- 
ed to be the family of Logan, who had long been dis- 
tinguished as a friend of the whites. This unworthy 
return provoked his vengeance; he accordingly sig- 
nalized himself in the war which ensued. In the au- 
tumn of the same year a decisive battle was fought 
at the mouth of the great Kanaway, in which the col- 
lected force of the Shawai\ees, Mingoes, and Dela- 



XOTES ON PART HI. 199 

wares, were defeated by a detachment of the Virginian 
militia. The Indians sued for peace. Logan, however, 
disdained to be seen among the supplicants; but lest 
the sincerity of the treaty should be distrusted from 
which so distinguished a chief abstracted himself, he 
sent, by a messenger, the following speech to be de- 
livered to lord Dunmore. 

" I appeal to any white man if ever he entered Lo- 
gan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not to eat; if ever 
he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. 
During the course of the last long and bloody war 
Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for 
peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my 
countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, Logan 
is the friend of white men. I had even thought to 
have lived with you but for the injuries of one man. 
Colonel Cresap the last spring, in cold blood, murder- 
ed all the relations of Logan, even my women and 
children. 

" There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins oP 
any living creature. — This called on me for revenge. — 
I have fought for it — I have killed many.— I have 
fully glutted my vengeance. — For my country I re- 
joice at the beams of peace — but do not harbour a 
thought that mine is the joy of fear. — Logan never 
felt fear. — He will not turn on his heel to save his 
life. — Who is there to mourn for Logan? not one! 5 * 
— Jefferson's Notes on Virginia. 



O CONNOR'S CHILD. 



OR, 



THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDING, 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 



OR, 



THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDING, 

I. 

Oh once the harp of Innisfail 1 

Was strung full high to notes of gladness; 

But yet it often told a tale 

Of more prevailing sadness. 

Sad was the note, and wild its fall, 

As winds that moan at night forlorn 

Along the isles of Fion-Gael, 

When for O'Connor's child to mourn, 

The harper told, how lone, how far 

From any mansion's twinkling star, 

From any path of social men, 

Or voice, but from the fox's den, 

1 The ancient name of IrelansL 



204 O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

The Lady in the desert dwelt, 
And yet no wrongs, no fear she felt: 
Say, why should dwell in place so wild 
The lovely pale O'Connor's child? 

II. 

Sweet lady! she no more inspires 

Green Erin's hearts with beauty's pow'r, 

As in the palace of her sires 

She bloom'd a peerless flow'r. 

Gone from her hand and bosom, gone, 

The regal broche, th^ jeweH'd ring, 

That o'er her dr -., 6 whiteness shone 

Like dews on lilies of the spring. 

Yet why, though fall'n her brother's kerne, 

Beneath De Bourgo's battle stem, 

While yet in Leinster unexplor'd, 

Her friends survive the English sword; 

Why lingers she from Erin's host, 

So far on Galway's shipwreck'd coast; 

Why wanders she a huntress wild— 

The lovely pale O'Connor's child? 



2 Kerne, the ancient Irish foot soldier} - . 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 2 05 

III. 

And fix'd on empty space, why burn 
Her eyes with momentary wildness; 
And wherefore do they then return 
To more than woman's mildness? 
Dishevell'd are her raven locks, 
On Connocht Moran's name she calls; 
And oft amidst the lonely rocks 
She sings sweet madrigals. 
Plac'd in the foxglove and the moss, 
Behold a parted warrior's cross I 
That is the spot where, evermore, 
The lady, at her shieling 3 door, 
Enjoys that in communion sweet, 
The living and the dead can meet: 
For lo! to love-lorn fantasy, 
The hero of her heart is nigh. 

IV. 

^Bright as the bow that spans the storm, 
In Erin's yellow vesture clad, 
A son of light— a lovely form, 
He comes and makes her glad: 

3 Rude hut, or cabin. 
S 



206 O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

Now on the grass-green turf he sits ; 
His tassell'd horn beside him laid; 
Now o'er the hills in chase he flits, 
The hunter and the deer a shade! 
Sweet mourner! those are shadows vain ; 
That cross the twilight of her brain; 
Yet she will tell you, she is blest, 
Of Connocht Moran's tomb possess'd, 
More richly than in Aghrim's bow'r, 
When bards high praisM her beauty's pow'r. 
And kneeling pages offer'd up 
The morat 4 in a golden cup. 

V. 

; A hero's bride! this desert bow'r, 

c It ill befits thy gentle breeding: 

c And wherefore dost thou love this flow'r 

' To call — My love lies bleeding?' 

" This purple flow'r my tears have nurs'd; 
A hero's blood supplied its bloom: 
I love it, for it was the first 
That grew on Cbnnocht Moran's tomb." 

4 A drink made of the juice of mulberry mixed with honey, 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 207 

Oh! hearken, stranger, to my voice! 
This desert mansion is my choice; 
And blest, tho' fatal, be the star 
That led me to its wilds afar: 
For here these pathless mountains free 
Gave shelter to my love and me; 
And every rock and every stone 
Bare witness that he was my own. 

VI. 

" O'Connor's child, I was the bud 

Of Erin's royal tree of glory; 

But woe to them that wrapt in blood 

The tissue of my story! 

Still as I clasp my burning brain, 

A death-scene rushes on my sight; 

It rises o'er and o'er again, 

The bloody feud, — the fatal night, 

When chafing Connocht Moran's scorn, 

They call'd my hero basely born; 

And bade him choose a meaner bride 

Than from O'Connor's house of pride; 



208 O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

Their tribe, they said, their high degree, 
Was sung in Tara's psaltery 5 ; 
Witness their Eath's victorious brand 6 , 
And Cathal of the bloody hand, — 
Glory (they said) and power and honour 
Were in the mansion of O'Connor; 
But he, my lov'd one, bore in field 
A meaner crest upon his shield. 

VII. 

" Ah, brothers! what did it avail, 
That fiercely and triumphantly 
Ye fought the English of the pale, 
And stemm'd De Bourgo's chivalry? 
And what was it to love and me, 
That barons by your standard rode; 
Or beal-fires 7 for your jubilee, 
Upon an hundred mountains glow'd. 
What tho' the lords of tower and dome 
From Shannon to the North-sea foam, — 

5 The psalter of Tara was the great national register of the 
ancient Irish. 

6 Vide the note upon the victories of the house of O'Connor. 

7 Fires lighted on May-day on the hill tops by the Irish. 
Vide the note on stanza VII. 






O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 209 I 

Thought ye your iron hands of pride 
Could break the knot that love had tied? 
No: — let the eagle change his plume, 
The leaf its hue, the flow'r its bloom; 
But ties around this heart were spun, 
That could not, would not, be undone! 

VIII. 

" At bleating of the wild-watch fold 

Thus sang my love — * Oh come with me: 

4 Our bark is on the lake behold: 

; Our steeds are fasten'd to the tree. 

* Come far from Castle-Connor's clans — 

; Come with thy belted forestere, 

c And I, beside the lake of swans, 

c Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer; 

c And build thy hut and bring thee home 

t The wild fowl, and the honey-comb; 

1 And berries from the wood provide, 

c And play my clarshech 8 by thy side. 

i Then come, my love!' — How could I stay? 

Our nimble stag-hounds track'd the way, 

And I pursued by moonless skies, 

The light of Connocht Moran's eyes. 

8 The harp. 
S 2 



2 1 O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

IX. 

" And fast and far, before the star 
Of day-spring rush'd we thro' the glade, 
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn 9 
Of Castle-Connor fade. 
Sweet was to us the hermitage 
Of this unplough'd, untrodden shore: 
Like birds all joyous from the cage, 
For man's neglect we lov'd it more. 
And well he knew, my huntsman dear, 
To search the game with hawk and spear; 
While I, his evening food to dress, 
Would sing to him in happiness. 
But oh, that midnight of despair! 
When I was doom'd to rend my hair; 
The night, to me of shrieking sorrow! 
The night, to him that had no morrow! 

X. 

u When all was hush'd at even tide, 
I -heard the baying of their beagle: 
Be hush'd! my Connocht Moran cried, 
'Tis but the screaming of the eagle. 

9 Ancient fortification. 






O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 211 

Alas! 'twas not the eyrie's sound, 

Their bloody bands had track'd us out; 

Up-list'ning starts our couchant hound — 

And hark! again, that nearer shout 

Brings faster on the murderers. 

Spare — spare him — Brazil — Desmond fierce! 

In vain — navoice the adder charms; 

Their weapons cross'd my sheltering arms; 

Another's sword has laid him low — 

Another's and another's; 

And every hand that dealt the blow — 

Ah me! it was a brother's! 

Yes, when his moanings died away, 

Their iron hands had dug the clay, 

And o'er his burial turf they trod, 

And I beheld— Oh God! Oh God! 

His life-blood oozing from the sod! 

XI. 

" Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred, 
Alas! my warrior's spirit brave, 
Nor mass nor ulia-lulla 10 heard, 
Lamenting sooth his grave. 

10 The Irish lamentation for the dead- 



212 ~ O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

Dragg'd to their hated mansion back, 
How long in thraldom's grasp I lay, 
I know not, for my soul was black, 
And knew no change of night or day. 
One night of horror round me grew; 
Or if I saw, or felt, or knew, 
'Twas but when those grim visages, 
The angry brothers of my race, 
Glared on each eye-ball's aching throb, 
And check'd my bosom's pow'r to sob; 
Or when my heart with pulses drear, 
Beat like a death-watch to my ear. 

XII. 

" But Heav'n, at last, my soul's eclipse 
Did with a vision bright inspire: 
I woke, and felt upon my lips 
A prophetess's fire. 
Thrice in the east a war-drum beat, 
I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound, 
And rang'd as to the judgment seat 
My guilty, trembling brothers round. 
Clad in the helm and shield they came; 
For now De Bourgo's sword and flame 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 213 

Had ravag'd Ulster's boundaries, 
And lighted up the midnight skies. 
The standard of O'Connor's sway 
Was in the turret where I lay: 
That standard, with so dire a look, 
As ghastly shone the moon and pale, 
I gave, — that every bosom shook 
Beneath its iron mail. 

XIII. 
" And go! I cried, the combat seek, 

Ye hearts that unappalled bore 

The anguish of a sister's shriek, 

Go! — and return no more! 

For sooner guilt the ordeal brand 

Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold 

The banner with victorious hand, 

Beneath a sister's curse unrolled. 

Oh stranger! by my country's loss! 

And by my love! and by the cross! 

I swear I never could have spoke 

The curse that sever'd nature's yoke; 

But that a spirit o'er me stood, 

And fir'd me with the wrathful mood; 



214 O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

And frenzy to my heart was giv'n, 
To speak the malison of heav'n. 

XIV. 

" They would have cross'd themselves all mute, 
They would have pray'd to burst the spell; 
But at the stamping of my foot 
Each hand down pow'rless fell, 
And goto Athunreel 11 I cried, 
High lift the banner of your pride! 
But know that where its sheet unrolls 
The weight of blood is on your souls! 
Go where the havoc of your kerne 
Shall float as high as mountain fern! 
* Men shall no more your mansion know! 
The nettles on your hearth shall grow! 
Dead as the green oblivious flood, 
That mantles by your walls, shall be 
The glory of O'Connor's blood! 
Away! away to Athunree! 
Where downward when the sun shall fall 
The raven's wing shall be your pall; 



11 Athunree, the battle fought in 1314, which decided the 
fate of Ireland. 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD 215 

And not a vassal shall unlace 
The vizor from your dying face! 

XV. 

* A bolt that overhung our dome 
Suspended till my curse was giv'm 
Soon as it pass'd these lips of foam 
Peal'd in the blood-red heav'n. 
Dire was the look that o'er their backs 
The angry parting brothers threw; 
But now, behold! like cataracts, 
Come down the hills in view 
O'Connor's plumed partizans. 
Thrice ten Innisfallian clans 
Were marching to their doom: 
A sudden storm their plumage toss'd, 
A flash of lightning o'er them cross'd, 
And all again was gloom; 
But once again in heav'n the bands 
Of thunder spirits clapt their hands 



216 O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

XVI. 

* Stranger! I fled the home of grief, 
At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall; 
I found the helmet of my chief, 
His bow still hanging on our wall; 
And took it down, and vow'd to rove 
This desert place a huntress bold; 
Nor would I change my buried love 
For any heart of living mould. 
No! for I am a hero's child, 
I'll hunt my quarry in the wild; 
And still my home this mansion make, 
Of all unheeded and unheeding, 
And cherish, for my warrior's sake, 
The flower of love lies bleeding*" 






NOTES 



©N 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

Verse 2. 1. 9. 
Kerne, the plural of Kern, an Irish foot soldier. 
In this sense the word is used by Shakspeare. Gains- 
ford in his Glory's of England, says, " They (the Irish) 
are desperate in revenge, and their kerne think no 
man dead until his head be off" 

Verse 4. 1. 2. 
In Erin's yellow vesture clad. 
Yellow dyed from saffron, was the favourite colour 
of the ancient Irish, as it was among the Belgic Gauls; 
a circumstance which favours the supposition of those 
who deduce the origin of the former from the latter 
people. The Irish chieftains who came to treat with 
queen Elizabeth's lord lieutenant, appeared as we are 
told by Sir John Davies, in saffron coloured uniform. 

Verse 6. 1. 13 and 14. 

Their tribe, they said, their high degree^ 
Was sung in Tara's fisaltery. 
The pride of the Irish in ancestry was so great, that 

T 



218 NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

one of the O'Neals being told that Barrett of Castle- 
mone had been there only 400 years, he replied,-— that 
he hated the clown as if he had come there but yester- 
day. 

Tara was the place of assemblage and feasting of 
the petty princes of Ireland. Very splendid and fabu- 
lous descriptions are given by the Irish historians of 
the pomp and luxury of those meetings. The psaltery 
of Tara was the grand national register of Ireland. The 
grand epoch of political eminence in the early history 
of the Irish is the reign of their great and favourite 
monarch Ollam Fodlah, who reigned, according to 
Keating, about 950 years before the Christian era. 
Under him was instituted the great Fes at Tara, which 
it is pretended was a triennial convention of the states, 
or a parliament; the members of which were the 
Druids, and other learned men, who represented the 
people in that assembly. Very minute accounts are 
given by Irish annalists of the magnificence and order 
of these entertainments; from which, if credible, we 
might collect the earliest traces of heraldry that occur 
in history. To preserve order and regularity in the 
great number and variety of the members who met 
on such occasions, the Irish historians inform us that 
when the banquet was ready to be served up, the 
shield-bearers of the princes, and other members of 
the convention, delivered in their shields and targets, 
-which were readily distinguished by the coats of arms 
emblazoned upon them. These were arranged by the 



NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 219 

grand marshal and principal herald, and hung- upon 
the walls on the right side of the table; and upon enter- 
ing the apartments, each member took his seat under 
his respective shield or target, without the slightest 
disturbance. The concluding days of the meeting, it 
is allowed by the Irish antiquarians, were spent in 
very free excess of conviviality; but the first six, they 
say, were devoted to the examination and settlement 
of the annals of the kingdom. These were publicly re- 
hearsed. When they had passed the approbation of the 
assembly, they were transcribed into the authentic 
chronicles of the nation, which was called the Regis- 
ter, or Psalter of Tara. 

Col. Valency gives a translation of an old Irish frag- 
ment, found in Trinity college, Dublin, in which the 
palace of the above assembly is thus described, as it 
existed in the reign of Cormac. 

" In the reign of Cormac, the Palace of Tara was 
nine hundred feet square; the diameter of the sur- 
rounding rath, seven dice or casts of a dart; it con- 
tained one hundred and fifty apartments; one hun- 
dred and fifty donflitories, or sleeping rooms for 
guards, and sixty men in each: the height was twenty- 
seven cubits; there were one hundred and fifty com- 
mon drinking horns, twelve doors, and one thousand 
guests daily, besides princes, orators, and men of sci- 
ence, engravers of gold and silver, carvers, modelers, 
and nobles. The Irish description of the banqueting- 
hall is thus translated: twelve stalls or divisions in 



220 NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

each wing; sixteen attendants on each side, and two 
to each table; one hundred guests in all." 

Ver6e 7. 1. 3. 

Ye fought the English ofthefiale. 
The English pale generally meant Louth in Ulster, 
and Meath, Dublin, and Kildare in Leinster. 

Molineaux Hist, of Ireland. 

Verse 7. 1. 4. 
And ste?nm 9 d De Bourgo's chivalry. 
The house of O'Connor had a right to boast of their 
victories over the English. It was a chief of the O'Con- 
nor race who gave a check to the English Champion, 
De Courcey, so famous for his personal strength, and 
for cleaving a helmet at one blow of his sword, in the 
presence of the kings of France and England, when 
the French champion declined the combat with him. 
Though ultimately conquered by the English under 
De Bourgo, the O'Connors had also humbled the pride 
of that name on a memorable occasion: viz. when 
Walter De Bourgo, an ancestor of that De Bourgo 
who won the battle of Athunree, had become so inso- 
lent as to make excessive demands upon the territo- 
ries of Connaught, and to bid defiance to all the rights 
and properties reserved by the Irish chiefs. Aeth 
O'Connor, a near descendant of the famous Cathal, 
surnamed of the Bloody Hand, rose against the usurper. 



NOTES OX O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 221 

and defeated the English so severely, that their gene- 
ral died of chagrin after the battle. 

Verse 7. 1. 7. 
Or Beal Jives for ij our jubilee. 
The month of May is to this day called Mi Beal 
tiennie, i. e. the month of Beal's fire, in the original 
language of Ireland. These fires were lighted on the 
summits of mountains (the Irish antiquaries say) in 
honour of the sun; and are supposed, by those conjec- 
turing gentlemen, to prove the origin of the Irish from 
some nation who worshipped Baal or Belus. Many 
hills in Ireland still retain the name of Cnoc Greine, 
i. e. the hill of the sun; and on all are to be seen the 
ruins of druidical altars. 

Verse 8. 1. 12. 
And play my clarshech by thy side. 
Theclarshech, or harp, the principal musical instru- 
ment of the Hibernian bards, does not appear to be of 
Irish origin, nor indigenous to any of the British 
islands. — The Britons undoubtedly were not acquaint- 
ed with it during the residence of the Romans in their 
country, as in all their coins, on which musical instru- 
ments are represented, we see only the Roman lyre, 
and not the British teylin or harp. 



T 2 



222 NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

Verse 9. 1. 3. 
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn. 
Daingean is a Celtic word expressing a close fast 
place, and afterwards a fort. This the English called a 
Bawn, from the Teutonic bawen, to construct and se- 
cure with branches of trees. The Daingean was the 
primitive Celtic fortification, which was made by dig- 
ging a ditch, throwing up a rampart, and on the latter 
fixing stakes, which were interlaced with boughs of 
trees. — An extempore defence used by all nations, and 
particularly by the Romans. 

Non te fossa patens 

Objectu suclium coronat agger. 

In this manner the first English adventurers secured 
their posts at Ferns and Idrone. When King Dennod 
entered Ossory, he found that Donald its tossarch had 
plashed a pace, i. e. made large and deep trenches with 
hedges upon them. Four hundred years afterwards, 
the Irish hrxd the same mode of defence. Within half 
a mile of the entrance of the Moiry, the English found 
that fiace by which they were to pass, being naturally 
one of the most difficult passages in Ireland, fortified 
with good art and admirable industry. The enemy 
having raised from mountain to mountain, from wood 
to wood, and from bog to bog, traverses with huge and 
high flankers of great stones, mingled with turf and 
staked down on both sides, with palisades wattled. 



NOTES OX O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 223 

Plashing from the Franco-gallic filesser, is to entwine, 
and is equivalent to the Teutonic bawen. 

Ledwick's Antiquities of Ireland. 

Verse 13. 1. 16. 
To sfieak the malison of Heaven, 

If the wrath which I have ascribed to the heroine of 
this little piece should seem to exhibit her character 
as too unnaturally stript of patriotic and domestic 
affections, I must beg leave to plead the authority of 
Corneille in the representation of a similar passion: I 
allude to the denunciation of Camille, in the tragedy 
of Horace. When Horace, accompanied by a soldier 
bearing the three swords of the Curiatii, meets his 
sister, and invites her to congratulate him on his vic- 
tory, she expresses only her grief, which he attributes 
at first only to her feelings for the loss of her two 
brothers; but when she bursts forth into reproaches 
against him as^ the murderer of her lover, the last of 
the Curiatii, he exclaims: 
" O Ciel, qui vit jamais une pareille rage, 
Crois tu done que je suis insensible a Toutrage 
Que je souffre en mon sang ce mortel deshonneur: 
Aime, Aime cette mort qui fait notre bonheur, 
Et prefere du moins au souvenir d'un homme 
Ce que doit ta naissance aux interets de Rome." 

At the mention of Rome, Camille breaks out into 
this apostrophe: 



224 NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

" Rome, Tunique objet de mon ressentiment! 
Rome, a qui vient ton bras d'immoler mon amant! 
Rome, qui t'a vu naitre et que ton coeur adore! 
Rome enfin que je hais, parcequ'elle t'honore! 
Puissent tous ses voisins, ensemble conjures, 
Sapper ses fondemens encore mal assures; 
Et, si ce n'est assez de toute Tltalie, 
Que TOrient, contre elle, a TOccident s'allie; 
Que cent peuples unis, des bouts de TUnivers 
Passent, pour la detruire, et les monts et les mers: 
Qu'elle-meme sur soi renverse ses murailles, 
Et de ses propres mains dechire ses entrailles; 
Que le courroux du Ciel, allume par mes vceux, 
Fasse pleuvoir sur elle un deluge de feux! 
Puissai-je de mes yeux y voir tomber ce foudre, 
Voir ses maisons en cendre, et tes lauriers en poudre, 
Voir le dernier Romain a son dernier soupir, 
Moi seule en etre cause, et mourir de plaisir!" l 

Verse 14. 1. 5. 
And go to Athunree^ I cried— 
In the reign of Edward the Second, the Irish pre- 
sented to Pope John the Twenty-second a memorial 
of their sufferings under the English, of which the 
language exhibits all the strength of despair.—" Ever 
" since the English (say they) first appeared upon our 
* coasts, they entered our territories under a certain 
" specious pretence of charity, and external hypocriti- 
" cal show of religion, endeavouring at the same time, 



NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 225 

a by every artifice malice could suggest, to extirpate 
K us root and branch, and without any other right than 
• £ that of the strongest, they have so far succeeded by 
" base fraudulence and cunning, that they have forced 
" us to quit our fair and ample habitations and inherit- 
k ances, and to take refuge like wild beasts in the 
M mountains, the woods, and the morasses of the 
a country; — nor even can the caverns and dens protect 
" us against their insatiable avarice. They pursue us 
M even into these frightful abodes; endeavouring to 
" dispossess us of the wild uncultivated rocks, and 
" arrogate to themselves the property of every 
" place on which we can stamp the figure of our 
« feet." 

The greatest effort ever made by the ancient Irish 
to regain their native independence was made at the 
time when they called over the brother of Robert 
Bruce from Scotland. — William de Bourgo, brother 
to the Earl of Ulster, and Richard de Birmingham 
were sent against the main body of the native insur- 
gents, who were headed rather than commanded by 
Felim O'Connor. — The important battle, which de- 
cided the subjection of Ireland, took place on the 10th 
of August, 1315. It was the bloodiest that ever was 
fought between the two nations, and continued through- 
out the whole day, from the rising to the setting sun. 
The Irish fought with inferior discipline, but with 
great enthusiasm. They lost ten thousand men> 
among whom were twenty -nine chiefs of Connaught, 



226 NOTES ON O'CONNOR'S CHILD. 

— Tradition states that after this terrible day, the 
O'Connor family, like the Fabian, were so nearly ex- 
terminated, that throughout all Connaught not one of 
the name remained, except Felim's brother, who w&s 
capable of bearing arms. 



LOCHIELS WARNING. 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 



WIZARD— LOCHIEL. 



WIZARD. 
jLochiel! Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array 1 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate, 
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair, 

U 



230 LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

Weep, Albin! 1 to death and captivity led! 
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead: 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

LOCHIEL. 
Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight! 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

WIZARD. 
Ha! laugh 5 st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north? 
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! 
Ah! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 

1 The Gaelic appellation of Scotland, more particularly the 
Highlands. 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 231 

Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; 
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

LOCHIEL. 

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan: 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,. 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; 
When her bonnetted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clamanald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array 

WIZARD. 

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 



232 LOCHIEL'S WAHN1NG. 

'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 

And coming events cast their shadows before. 

I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 

With the bloodhounds, that bark for thy fugitive king. 

Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, 

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! 

Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my 

sight: * 
Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors; 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores; 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? 
Ah no! for a darker departure is near; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; 
His death-bell is tolling; oh! mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! 
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 

* Alluding to the perilous escape of Charles from the west 
of Scotland. 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING, 233 

Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 

LOCHIEL, 

Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: 

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in theii 

gore, 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 



U 2 



NOTES 



ON 



LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

Xjochiel, the chief of the warlike clan of the Came- 
rons, and descended from ancestors distinguished in 
their narrow sphere for great personal prowess, was 
a man worthy of a better cause and fate than that in 
which he embarked, the enterprise of the Stuarts in 
1745. His memory is still fondly cherished among 
the Highlanders, by the appellation of the gentle Lo- 
chiel, for he was famed for his social virtues as much 
as his martial and magnanimous (though mistaken) 
loyalty . His influence was so important among the High- 
land chiefs, that it depended on his joiningwith his clan 
whether the standard of Charles should be raised or not 
in 1745. Lochiel was himself too wise a man to be blind 
to the consequences of so hopeless an enterprise, but 
his sensibility to the point of honour overruled his 
wisdom. Charles appealed to his loyalty, and he could 
not brook the reproaches of his prince. When Charles 
landed at Borrodale, Lochiel went to meet him, but, 
on his way, called at his brother's house (Cameron 



236 NOTES ON LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

of Fassafern), and told him on what errand he was 
going; adding, however, that he meant to dissuade the 
prince from his enterprise. Fassafern advised him in 
that case to communicate his mind by letter to 
Charles. " No," said Lochiel, " I think it due to my 
prince to give him my reasons in person for refusing 
to join his standard." " Brother," replied Fassafern, 
" I know you better than you know yourself; if the 
prince once sets his eyes on you, he will make you 
do what he pleases." The interview accordingly took 
place, and Lochiel, with many arguments, but in vain, 
pressed the pretender to return to France, and reserve 
himself and his friends for a more favourable occa- 
sion, as he had come, by his own acknowledgment, 
without arms, or money, or adherents; or, at all events, 
to remain concealed till his friends should meet and 
deliberate what was best to be done. Charles, whose 
mind was wound up to the utmost impatience, paid no 
regard to this proposal, but answered, " that he was 
determined to put all to the hazard." " In a few days," 
said he, " I will erect the royal standard, and proclaim 
to the people of Great Britain, that Charles Stuart is 
come over to claim the crown of his ancestors, and to 
win it or perish in the attempt. Lochiel, who by my 
father has often told me he was our firmest friend, may 
stay at home, and learn from the newspapers the fate 
of his prince." " No," said Lochiel, " I will share the 
fate of my prince, and so shall every man over whom 
nature or fortune hath given me any power." 



NOTES ON LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 237 

The other chieftains who followed Charles em- 
Draced his cause with no better hopes. It engages our 
sympathy most strongly in their behalf, that no mo- 
tive, but their fear to be reproached with cowardice or 
disloyalty, impelled them to the hopeless adventure, 
Of this we have an example in the interview of prince 
Charles with Clanronald, another leading chieftain in 
the rebel army. 

" Charles, " says Home, " almost reduced to de- 
spair, in his discourse with Boisdale, addressed the 
two highlanders with great emotion, and, summing 
up his arguments for taking arms, conjured them to 
assist their prince, their countryman, in his utmost 
need. Clanronald and his friend, though well inclined 
to the cause, positively refused, and told him that to 
take up arms without concert or support was to puU 
down certain ruin on their own heads. Charles per- 
sisted, argued, and implored. During this conversation 
{they were on shipboard) the parties walked back- 
wards and forwards on the deck; a Highlander stood 
near them, armed at all points, as was then the fash- 
ion of his country. He was a younger brother of Kin- 
loch Moidart, and had come off to the ship to inquire 
for news, not knowing who was aboard. When he ga- 
thered from their discourse that the stranger was the 
prince of Wales; when he heard his chief and his bro- 
ther refuse to take arms with their prince; his colour 
went and came, his eyes sparkled, he shifted his place, 
and grasped his sword, Charles observed his demean- 









238 



NOTES ON LOCH1E1/S WARNING. 



our, and turning briskly to him, called out, " Will you 
assist me?" " I will, I will," said Ronald, " though no 
other man in the Highlands should draw a sword, I am 
ready to die for you!" Charles, with a profusion of 
thanks to his champion, said, he wished all the High- 
landers were like him. Without farther deliberation 
the two Macdonalds declared that they would also join, 
and use their utmost endeavours to engage their coun- 
trymen to take arms." — Home's Hist. Rebellion, p. 40. 



Page 109, 1. 3 and 4. 
Lot anointed by heav'n with the vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he files on his desolate path! 

The lines allude to the many hardships of the royal 
sufferer. 

An account of the second sight, in Irish called 
Taish, is thus given in Martin's description of the 
Western Isles of Scotland. " The second sight is a 
singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisible ob- 
ject, without any previous means used by the person 
who sees it, for that end. The vision makes such a 
lively impression upon the seers, that they neither 
see nor think of any thing else except the vision as 
long as it continues; and then they appear pensive 
or jovial according to the object w r hich was repre- 
sented to them. 

" At the sight of a vision the eyelids of the per- 
son are erected, and the eyes continue staring until the 
object vanish. This a is obvious to others who are stand- 



NOTES TO LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 239 

ing by when the persons happen to see a vision; and 
occurred more than once to my own observation, and 
to others that were with me. 

" There is one in Skie, of whom his acquaintance 
observed, that when he sees a vision the inner parts of 
his eyelids turn so far upwards, that, after the object 
disappears, he must draw them down with his fingers, 
and sometimes employs others to draw them down, 
which he finds to be the easier way. 

" This faculty of the second sight does not lineally 
descend in a family, as some have imagined; for I 
know several parents who are endowed with it, and 
their children are not: and vice versa. Neither is it 
acquired by any previous compact. And after strict 
inquiry, I could never learn from any among them, 
that this faculty was communicable to any whatsoever. 
The seer knows neither the object, time, nor place of a 
vision before it appears; and the same object is often 
seen by different persons living at a considerable dis- 
tance from one another. The true way of judging as 
to the time and circumstances is by observation; for se- 
veral persons of judgment who are without this facul- 
ty are more capable to judge of the design of a vision 
than a novice that is a seer. If an object appear in the 
day or night, it will come to pass sooner or later ac- 
cordingly. 

** If an object is seen early in a morning, which is 
not frequent, it will be accomplished in a few hours af- 
terwards; if at noon, it will probably be accomplished 



240 NOTES ON LOCHIEL'S WARNING 

that very day; if in the evening, perhaps that night; if 
after candles be lighted, it will be accomplished that 
night: the latter always an accomplishment by weeks, 
months, and sometimes years, according to the time 
of the night the vision is seen. 

" When a shroud is seen about one, it is a sure prog- 
nostic of death. The time is judged according to the 
height of it about the person; for if it is not seen above 
the middle, death is not to be expected for the space 
of a year, and perhaps some months longer: and as it 
is frequently seen to ascend higher towards the head, 
death is concluded to be at hand within a few days, if 
not hours, as daily experience confirms. Examples of 
this kind were shown me, when the person of whom 
the observations were then made was in perfect health. 

" It is ordinary with them to see houses, gardens, 
and trees in places void of all these, and this in pro- 
cess of time is wont to be accomplished; as at Mogs- 
lot, in the isle of Skie, where there were but a few 
sorry low houses thatched with straw; yet in a few 
years the vision, which appeared often, was accom- 
plished by the building of several good houses in the 
very spot represented to the seers, and by the planting 
of orchards there. 

" To see a spark of fire is a forerunner of a dead 
child, to be seen in the arms of those persons; of which 
there are several instances. To see a seat empty at 
the time of sitting in it, is a presage of that person's 
death quickly after it. 



NOTES ON LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 241 

" When a novice, or one that has lately obtained the- 
second sight, sees a vision in the night-time without 
doors, and comes near a fire, he presently falls into a 
swoon. 

" Some find themselves as it were in a crowd of peo- 
ple, having a corpse, which they carry along with 
them; and after such visions the seers come in sweat- 
ing, and describe the vision that appeared. If there be 
any of their acquaintance among them, they give an 
account of their names, as also of the bearers; but 
they know nothing concerning the corpse." 

Horses and cows (according to the same credulous 
author) have certainly sometimes the same faculty; 
and he endeavours to prove it by the signs of fear 
which the animals exhibit, when second sighted per- 
sons see visions in the same place. 

" The seers (he continues) are generally illiterate 
and well meaning people, and altogether void Gf de- 
sign: nor could I ever learn that any of them ever made 
the least gain by it; neither is it reputable among them 
to have that faculty. Besides, the people of the isles 
are not so credulous as to believe implicitly before the 
thing predicted is accomplished; but when it is actu- 
ally accomplished afterwards, it is not in their power 
to deny it, without offering violence to their own sense 
and reason. Besides, if the seers were deceivers, can 
it be reasonable to imagine that all the islanders who 
have not the second sight should combine together, 

X 



242 NOTES ON LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

and offer violence to their understandings and senses, 
to enforce themselves to believe a lie from age to age. 
There are several persons among them whose title 
and education raise them above the suspicion of con- 
curring with an impostor, merely to gratify an illite- 
rate, contemptible set of persons; nor can reasonable 
persons believe that children, horses, and cows, should 
be pre-engaged in a combination in favour of the se- 
cond sight." — Martin's Description of the Western 
Islands of Scotland, p. 3, 11. 

Page 109, 1. 12. 

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? 

An English historian after enumerating the severe 
execution of the Highland rebels at Culloden, Car- 
lisle, and other places, concludes by informing us that 
many thousands experienced his majesty's mercy, in 
being transported for life to the plantations. 

Page 109,1. 13. 
Ah no! for a darker departure is near. 
The brother of Lochiel returning to England ten 
years after the rebellion, though he acted only as a 
surgeon in the rebel army, suffered the dreadful fate 
here predicted, by a sentence which happily has no 
parallel for needless severity in the modern history of 
state trials in this humane age and country. 




SPECIMENS 



OF 



TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA. 



Medea, v. 194, p. 33, Glasg. edit. 



1 ell me, ye bards, whose skill sublime 
First charm'd the ear of youthful Time, 
With numbers wrapt in heav'nly fire; 
Who bade delighted Echo swell 
The trembling transports of the lyre, 5 

The murmur of the shell, — 
Why to the burst of Joy alone 
Accords sweet Music's soothing tone? 
Why can no bard, with magic strain, 
In slumbers steep the heart of pain? 10 

While varied tones obey your sweep, 
The mild, the plaintive, and the deep, 



244 TRANSLATION FROM MEDBA. 

Bends not despairing Grief to hear 
. Your golden lute, with ravish'd ear? 
Oh! has your sweetest shell no power to bind 15 
The fiercer pangs that shake the mind, 
And lull the wrath, at whose command 
Murder bares her gory hand? 
When flush'd with joy, the rosy throng 
Weave the light dance, ye swell the song! 20 

Cease, ye vain warblers! cease to charm 
The breast with other raptures warm! 
Cease! till your hand with magic strain 
In slumbers steep the heart of pain! 



SPEECH OF THE CHORUS 

IN THE SAME TRAGEDY, 

To dissuade Medea from her purpose of putting* her children to 
death, and flying for protection to Athens. 

\J haggard queen ! to Athens dost thou guide 
Thy glowing chariot, steep'd in kindred gore; 

Or seek to hide thy damned parricide 

Where Peace and Mercy dwellvfor ever more? 

The land where Truth, pure, precious, and sublime, 3 
Woos the deep silence of sequester'd bowers, 

And warriors, matchless since the first of Time, 
Rear their bright banners o'er unconquer'd towers! 

Where joyous Youth, to Music's mellow strain, 

Twines in the dance with Nymphs for ever fair, 10 

While Spring eternal, on the lilied plain, 

Waves amber radiance through the fields of airl^ 

X 2 



246 TRANSLATION PROM MEDEA. 

The tuneful Nine (so sacred legends tell) 

First wak'd their heavenly lyre these scenes among; 

Still in your greenwood bowers they love to dwell; 15 
Still in your vales they swell the choral song! 

For there the tuneful, chaste, Pierian fair, 

The guardian nymphs of green Parnassus now, 

Sprung from Harmonia, while her graceful hair 

Wav'd in bright auburn o'er her polish'd brow! 20- 

ANTISTROPHE I. 
Where silent vales, and glades of green array, 

The murm'ring wreaths of cool Cephisus lave, 
There, as the Muse hath sung, at noon of day, 

The Queen of Beauty bow'd to taste l^he wave,; 

And blest the stream, and breath'd across the land, 2S 
The soft sweet gale that fans yon summer bowers; 

And there the sister Loves, a smiling band, 

Crown'd with the fragrant wreaths of rosy flowers'!* - 

" And go, (she cries) in yonder valleys rove, 

With Beauty's torch the solemn scenes illume; 30 

Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love, 

Breathe on each cheek young Passion's tender bloom! 



TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA. 247 

Entwine, with myrtle chains, your soft control, 
To sway the hearts of Freedom's darling kind I 

With glowing charms enrapture Wisdom's soul, 35 
And mould to grace etherial Virtue's mind." 

STROPHE II. 
The land where Heaven's own hallow'd waters play, 

Where Friendship binds the generous and the good, 
Say, shall it hail thee from thy frantic way, 
Unholy woman! with thy hands embrued 40 

In thine own children's gore? — Oh! ere they bleed, 
Let Nature's voice thy ruthless heart appal! 

Pause at the bold, irrevocable deed — 

The mother strikes — the guiltless babes shall fall! 

Think what remorse thy maddening thoughts shall sting, 
When dying pangs their gentle bosoms tear; 46 

Where shalt thou sink, when lingering echoes ring 
The screams of horror in thy tortur'd ear? 

No! let thy bosom melt to Pity's cry, — 

In dust we kneel — by sacred Heaven implore — 5fr 
O! stop thy lifted arm, ere yet they die, 

Nor clip thy horrid hands in infant gore! 



248 TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA, 

ANT1STROPHE II. 
Say, how shalt thou that barb'rous soul assume? 

Undamp'd by horror at the daring plan? 
Hast thou a heart to work thy children's doom? 55 

Or hands to finish what thy wrath began? 

When o'er each babe you look a last adieu, 
And gaze on innocence that smiles asleep, 

Shall no fond feeling beat, to nature true, 

Charm thee to pensive thought — and bid thee weep: 

When the young suppliants clasp their parent dear, 6 1 
Heave the deep sob, and pour the artless prayer, — 

Ay! thou shalt melt; — and many a heartshed tear 
Gush o'er the harden'd features of despair! 

Nature shall throb in ev'ry tender string, — - 65 

Thy trembling heart the ruffian's task deny; — 

Thy horror-smitten hands afar shall fling 
The blade, undrench'd in blood's eternal dye! 

CHORUS. 
Hallo w'd Earth! with indignation 

Mark, oh mark, the murd'rous deed! V 



TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA. 249 

Radiant eye of wide creation, 
Watch the damned parricide! 

Yet, ere Colchia's ragged daughter 

Perpetrate the dire design, 
And consign to kindred slaughter 75 

Children of thy golden line! 

Shall the hand, with murder gory, 

Cause immortal blood to flow? 
Sun of Heav'n! — array'd in glory! 

Rise, — forbid, — avert the blow! 80 

In the vales of placid gladness 

Let no rueful maniac range; 
Chase afar the fiend of Madness, 

Wrest the dagger from Revenge! 

Say, hast thou, with kind protection, 85 

Rear'd thy smiling race in vain; 
Fost'ring Nature's fond affection, 

Tender cares, and pleasing pain? 

Hast thou, on the troubled ocean, 

Brav'd the tempest loud and strong, 90 



250 TRANSLATION FROM MEDEA 

Where the waves, in wild commotion, 
Roar Cyanean rocks among? 

Didst thou roam the paths of danger, 

Hymenean joys to prove? 
Spare, O sanguinary stranger, 95 

Pledges of thy sacred love! 

Shall not Heaven, with indignation, 

Watch thee o'er the barb'rous deed? 
Shalt thou cleanse, with expiation, 

Monstrous, murd'rous, parricide? 10ft 



LOYE AND MADNESS. 



AN ELEGY. 



WRITTEN IN 1795. 



XI ark! from the battlements of yonder tower 1 
The solemn bell has toll'd the midnight hour! 
RousM from dear visions of distemper'd sleep, 
Poor B k wakes — in solitude to weep! 

" Cease, Mem'ry, cease (the friendless mourner cry'd) 
To probe the bosom too severely tried! 6 

Oh! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray 
Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day: 
When youthful Hope, the music of the mind, 
Tun'd all its charms, and E n was kind! 10 

" Yet, can I cease, while glows this trembling frame* 
In sighs to speak thy melancholy name? 

1 Warwick castle. 



252 LOVE AND MADNESS 

I hear thy spirit wail in every storm I 

In midnight shades 1 view thy passing form! 

Pale as in that sad hour, when doom'd to feel, 15 

Deep in thy perjur'd heart the bloody steel! 

" Demons of Vengeance! ye at whose command 
I grasp'd the sword with more than woman's hand, 
Say ye, did Pity's trembling voice control, 
Or horror damp the purpose of my soul? 20 

No! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan, 
Till Hate fuinll'd what baffled Love began! 

" Yes; let the clay-cold breast, that never knew 
One tender pang to generous Nature true, 
Half mingling pity with the gall of scorn, 25 

Condemn this heart that bled in love forlorn! 

" And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms, 
Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms! 
Delighted idols of a gaudy train! 

Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain, 30 

When the fond faithful heart, inspir'd to prove 
Friendship refin'd, the calm delight of love, 
Feels all its tender strings with anguish torn, 
And bleeds at perjur'd Pride's inhuman scorn! 



LOVE AND MADNESS. 25 8 

« Say, then, did pitying Heav'n condemn the deed, 35 
When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover! bleed? 
Long had I watch'd thy dark foreboding brow, 
What time thy bosom scorn'd its dearest vow! 
Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover chang'd, 
Still thy cold look was scornful and estran g'd, 4® 

Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, 
I wander'd, hopeless, friendless, and alone! 

" Oh! righteous Heav'n! 'twas then my tortur'd soul 
First gave to wrath unlimited control! 
Adieu the silent look! the streaming eye! 45 

The murmur'd plaint! the deep heart-heaving sigh! 
Long slumb'ring Vengeance wakes to better deeds; 
He shrieks, he falls, the perjur'd Lover bleeds! 
Now the last laugh of agony is o'er, 
And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more! 50 

" 'Tis done! the flame of hate no longer burns; 
Nature relents; but, ah! too late returns! 
Why does my soul this gush of fondness feel? 
Trembling and faint, I drop the guilty steel! 
Cold on my heait the hand of terror lies, 55 

And shades of horror close my languid eyes! — ■ 

V 



254 LOVE AND MADNESS. 

" Oh! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain! 

Could B k's soul so true to wrath remain? 

A friend long true, a once fond lover. fell! — 

Where Love was foster'd, could not Pity dwell? 60 

" Unhappy youth! while yon pale crescent glows, 
To watch on silent Nature's deep repose, 
Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb, 
Foretells my fate, and summons me to come! 
Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand, 65 

Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand! 

" Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame 
Forsake its languid melancholy frame! 
Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, 
Welcome the dreamless night of long repose! 70 

Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne! 
Where, lull'd to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn!' 3 




THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. 

Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube 
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er: 

Oh whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover; 
Or here dost thou welter, and bleed on the shored 

What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd! 5 
All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far, 

When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried, 
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar! 

From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was 
streaming, 

And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar; 10 
And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, 

That melted in love, and that kindled in war! 

How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight! 
How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! 



256 THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. 

Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night, 
To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar! 16 

Thou shalt live, she replied, Heav'n's mercy relieving 
Each anguishing wound, shall forbid me to mourn! 

Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving! 

No light of the morn shall to Henry return! 20 

Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true: 
Ye babes of my love that await me afar! — 

His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, 
When he sunk in her arms — the poor wounded Hussar! 




GILDEROY. 

1 he last, the fatal hour is come. 
That bears my love from me; 
I hear the dead note of the drum, 
I mark the gallows tree! 

The bell has toll'd; it shakes my heart; 

The trumpet speaks thy name; 
And must my Gilderoy depart 

To bear a death of shame? 

No bosom trembles for thy doom; 

No mourner wipes a tear; 
The gallows' foot is all thy tomb, 

The sledge is all thy bier! 

Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then 

So soon, so sad, to part, 
When first in Roslin's lovely glen 

You triumph'd o'er my heart? 

Y2 



258 GILDEROY. 

Your locks they glitter 5 d to the sheen* 
Your hunter garb was trim; 

And graceful was the ribbon green 
That bound your manly limb! 

Ah! little thought I to deplore 
These limbs in fetters bound; 

Or hear, upon thy scaffold floor, 
The midnight hammer sound. 

Ye cruel, cruel, that combined 

The guiltless to pursue; 
My Gilderoy was ever kind, 

He could not injure you! 

A long adieu! but where shall fly 

Thy widow all forlorn, 
When every mean and cruel eye 

Regards my woe with scorn? 

Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears* 
And hate thine orphan boy; 

Alas! his infant beauty wears 
The form of Gilderoy! 



eiLDEROY. 259 

Then will I seek the dreary mound 

That wraps thy mouldering clay; 
And weep and linger on the ground. 

And sigh my heart away. 




THE HARPER. 

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh? 

No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; 

No harp like my own could so cheerily play. 

And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 

When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part, 5 
She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart) 
Oh! remember your Sheelah when far far away; 
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. 

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, 
And he constantly lov'd me, although I was poor; 10 
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, 
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. 

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, 
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, 
How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, 15 

And he lick'd me for kindness — my poor dog Tray. 



THE HARPER. 261 

Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case, 
Nor refus'd my last crust to his pitiful face; 
But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, 
And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. 25 

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? 
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind? 
To my sweet native village, so far far away, 
I can never more return with my poor dog Tray, 



SONG. 

JVlY mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign 
A queen there to sway without measure; 

Then come, o'er its wishes and homage to reign, 
And make it an empire of pleasure. 

Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd. 

That rebelPd at stern reason and duty; 
Returning — shall yield all their loyalty proud 

To the Halcyon dominion of beauty. 



THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. 

On leave this barren spot to me, 

Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree. 

Though shrub or flow'ret never grow, 

My wan unwanning shade below, 

Nor fruits of autumn blossom born 

My green and glossy leaves adorn, 

Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 

The ambrosial treasures of the hive, 

Yet leave this little spot to me, 

Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree. 

Thrice twenty summers I have stood 
In bloomless fruitless solitude; 
Since childhood in my rustling bower 
First spent its sweet and sportive hour, 
Since youthful lovers in my shade 
Their vows of truth and rapture paid, 
And on my trunk's surviving frame 
Carv'd many a long forgotten name. 



THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. 



263 



Oh, by the vows of gentle sound 

First breath'd upon this sacred ground, 

By all that Love hath whisper'd here, 

Or Beauty heard with ravish'd ear, 

As Love's own altar honour me, 

Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree. 



HOHENLINDEN 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat, at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast array'd, 
Each horseman drew his battle blade, 
And furious every charger neigh'd, 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, 
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n. 
And louder than the bolts of heaven, 
Far flash'd the red artillery. 



HOHENLINDEN. 265 

And redder yet those fires shall glow, 
On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow, 
And darker yet shall be the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

'Tismorn, but scarce yon lurid sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, 
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave- 
Who rush to glory, or th<j grave! 
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! 
And charge with all thy chivalry! 

Ah! few shall part where many meet! 
The snow shall be their winding sheet, 
And every turf beneath their feet, 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.* 

* The above poem has been variously printed in different 
editions, the Editor has chosen the reading 1 he considers most 
spirited and elegant. 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 



A NAVAL ODE. 



I e Mariners of England! 
That guard our native seas: 
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 
The battle and the breeze! 
Your glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe! 
And sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy tempests blow; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy tempests blow. 

II. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave! — 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean was their grave: 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 267 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
Your manly hearts shall glow, 
As ye sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy tempests blow; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy tempests blow, 

III. 

Britannia needs no bulwark, 

No towers along the steep; 

Her march is o'er the mountain waves, 

Her home is on the deep. 

With thunders from her native oak, 

She quells the floods below — 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy tempests blow; 

When the battle rages loud and long\ 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

IV. 

The meteor flag of England 
Shall yet terrific burn; 
Till danger's troubled night depart, 
And the star of peace return. 



268 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 

Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! 

Our song and feast shall flow 

To the fame of your name, 

When the storm has ceas'd to blow; 

When the fiery fight is heard no more,- 

And the storm has ceas'd to blow. 



GLENARA. 

heard ye yon pibrach sound sad in the gale. 
Where a band cometh slowly with w T eeping and wail? 
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; 

And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier. 

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; 
Her kinsmen they follow 'd, but mourn'd not aloud: 
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around: 
They march'd all in silence — they look'd on the ground. 

In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor, 

To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar; 

1 Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn: 
< Why speak ye no word!' — said Glenara the stern. 

v And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, 
* Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your 

brows?' 
So spake the rude chieftain: — no answer is made. 
But each mantle unfolding a dagger display'd. 

Z2 



270 GLENARA. 

< I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,' 
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and 

loud; 
1 And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem: 
i Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!' 

O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, 
When the shroud was unclos'd, and no lady was seen; 
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn^ 
'Twas the youth who had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn: 

c I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, 
1 I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: 
( On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; 
i Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!* 

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne, 
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! 



BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 

i. 

Of Nelson and the North, 

Sing the glorious day's renown. 

When to battle fierce came forth 

All the might of Denmark's crown, 

And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 

By each gun the lighted brand, 

In a bold determined hand, 

And the Prince of all the land 

Led them on.— » 

II. 

Like leviathans afloat, 

Lay their bulwarks on the brine; 

While the sign of battle flew 

On the lofty British line: 

It was ten of April morn by the chime: 

As they drifted on their path, 

There was silence deep as death; 

And the boldest held his breath. 

For a time.— 



2 72 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 

III. 

But the might of England flush'd 

To anticipate the scene; 

And her van the fleeter rush'd 

O'er the deadly space between. 

4 Hearts of oak/ our captains cried! when each gun 

From its adamantine lips 

Spread a death-shade round the ships, 

Like the hurricane eclipse 

Of the sun. 

IV. 

Again! again! again! 

And the havoc did not slack, 

Till a feeble cheer the Dane 

To our cheering sent us back; — 

Their shots along the deep slowly boom: — 

Then ceas'd — and all is wail, 

As they strike the shattered sail; 

Or, in conflagration pale, 

Light the gloom. — 

V. 

Outspoke the victor then, 

As he hail'd them o'er the wave, 



BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 273 

i Ye are brothers! ye are men! 

c And we conquer but to save: — 

c So peace instead of death let us bring. 

c But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 

! With the crews, at England's feet, 

6 And make submission meet 

6 To our king.'— 

VI. 
Then Denmark blest our chief, 
That he gave her wounds repose; 
And the sounds of joy and grief, 
From her people wildly rose; 
As death withdrew his shades from the day. 
While the sun look'd smiling bright 
O'er a wide and woeful sight, 
Where the fires of fun'ral light 
Died away.— 

VII. 

Now joy, old England, raise! 
For the tidings of thy might, 
By the festal cities' blaze, 
While the wine cup shines in light; 



274 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 

And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
Let us think of them that sleep, 
Full many a fathom deep, 
By thy wild and stormy steep, 
Elsinore!— 

VIII. 
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride 
Once so faithful and so true, 
On the deck of fame that died,— 
With the gallant good Riou:* 
Soft sigh the winds of heav'n o'er their gravel 
While the billow mournful rolls, 
And the mermaid's song condoles, 
Singing glory to the souls 
Of the brave!— 

* Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good, by 
Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his despatches. 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 



A chieftain to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, c Boatman, do not tarry! 

4 And I'll give thee a silver pound, 
c To row us o'er the ferry.' — 

i Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
.' This dark and stormy water!'— 

4 Oh I'm the chief,of Ulva's isle, 
; And this Lord Ullin's daughter.- — 

4 And fast before her father's men 
i Three days we've fled together, 

< For should he find us in the glen, 
6 My blood would stain the heather. 

i His horsemen hard behind us ride; 

6 Should they our steps discover, 
' Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

6 When they have slain her lover?' — • 



276 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight 
1 I'll go, my chief — I'm ready: — 

' It is not for your silver bright; 
* But for your winsome lady: 

6 And by my word! the bonny bird 
1 In danger shall not tarry; 

1 So, though the waves are raging white, 
c I'll row you o'er the ferry.' — 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 
The water-wraith was shrieking;* 

And in the scowl of heav'n each face 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 
And as the night grew drearer, 

, Adown the glen rode armed men, 
Their trampling sounded nearer.— 

4 Oh haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 
i Though tempests round us gather; 

M'll meet the raging of the skies: 
s But not an angry father.' — 

* The evil spirit of the waters. 



LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 277 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When oh! too strong for human hand 3 

The tempest gather'd o'er her. — 

And still they row'd amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing: 
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, 

His wrath was chang'd to wailing. — 

For sore dismay 'd, through storm and shade 

His child he did discover: 
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

' Come back! come back!' he cried in grief, 

Across this stormy water: 
i And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 

i My daughter! — oh my daughter!' — ■ 

'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore. 

Return or aid preventing:— 
The waters wild went o'er his child — 

And he was left lamenting. 



LINES 



ON THE 



GRAVE OF A SUICIDE. 

JuY strangers left upon a lonely shore, 
Unknown, unhonour'd, was the friendless dead: 

For child to weep, or widow to deplore, 
There never came to his unburied head — 
All from his dreary habitation fled. 

Nor will the lantern'd fisherman at eve 

Launch on that water by the witches' tow'r, 

Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave 
Round its dark vaults a melancholy bow'r, 
For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour. 

They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate! 

Whose crime it was, on life's unfinish'd road 
To feel the stepdame bufferings of fate, 

And render back thy being's heavy load. 



LINES ON THE GRAVE OF A SUICIDE. 279 

Ah! once, perhaps, the social passions glow'd 
In thy devoted bosom — and the hand 

That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone 
To deeds of mercy. Who may understand 

Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown? — 

He who thy being gave shall judge of thee alone, 



ODE TO WINTER. 



\\ hen first the fiery-mantled sun 
His heavenly race began to run, 
Round the earth and ocean blue, 
His children four the Seasons flew,. 

First, in green apparel dancing, 

The young Spring smil'd with angel grace; 
Rosy Summer next advancing, 

Rush'd into her sire's embrace: 
Her brigbt-hair'd sire, who bade her keep 

For ever nearest to his smiles, 
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep, 

On India's citron-cover'd isles: 
More remote and buxom-brown. 

The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throttef- 
A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 

A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 



ODE TO WINTER. 281 

But howling Winter fled afar, 
To hills that prop the polar star, 
And loves on deer-borne car to ride, 
With barren darkness by his side. 
Round the shore where loud Lofoden 

Whirls to death the roaring whale, 
Round the hall where Runic Odin 

Howls his war-song to the gale; 
Save when adown the ravag'd globe 
He travels on his native storm, ~ 

Deflow'ring nature's grassy robe, 
And trampling on her faded form: — 

Till light's returning lord assume 
The shaft that drives him to his polar field, 

Of power to pierce his raven plume, 
And crystal cover'd shield. 

Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear 
The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
Implores thy dreadful deity. 
Archangel! power of desolation! 

Fast descending as thou art, 
Say, hath mortal invocation 
2 A ? 



282 ODE TO WINTER. 

Spells to touch thy stony heart? 
Then sullen Winter hear my prayer, 
And gently rule the ruin'd year; 
Nor chill the wand'rer's bosom bare, 
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear; — 
To shuddering want*s unmantled bed, 
Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead, 
And gently on the orphan head 
Of innocence descend.-— 

But chiefly spare, O king of clouds! 
The sailor on his airy shrouds: 
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, 
And spectres walk along the deep. 
Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

Pour on yonder tented shores, 
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 

Or the dark -brown Danube roars. 
Oh winds of winter! list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan; 
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, 

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.. 
Alas! ev'n your unhallow'd breath 

May spare the victim, fallen low; 



0DE TO WINTER. 28S 

But man will ask no truce to death, — 
No bounds to human woe.* 

* This ode was written in Germany, at the close of 1800* 
before the conclusion of hostilities. 



THE SOLDIER S DEE AM. 

Our bugles sang true — for the night-cloud had lowVd, 
And the centinel stars set their watch in the sky; 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowVd, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain ; 

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track: 

'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields travers'd so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reap e.rs sung. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 285 

Then pledg'd we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, 
From my home and my weeping friends never to 
part; 

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 

Stay, stay with us — rest, thou art weary and worn:— 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; 

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 



THE TURKISH LADY. 



X was the hour when rites unholy 
Call'd each Paynim voice to pray'r, 
And the star that faded slowly 
Left to dews the freshen'd air. 

Day her sultry fires had wasted, 
Calm and sweet the moonlight rose; 

Ev'n a captive's spirit tasted 
Half oblivion of his woes. 

Then 'twas from an Emir's palace 

Came an eastern lady bright; 
She, in spite of tyrants jealous, 

Saw and lov'd an English knight. . 

' Tell me, captive, why in anguish 

i . Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell* 

6 Where poor Christians as they languish 
' Hear no sound of sabbath bell?' — 



THE TURKISH LADY. 03; 

* 'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat 

' When the crescent shone afar, 
6 Like a pale disastrous planet 

i O'er the purple tide of war — 

' In that day of desolation, 

' Lady, I was captive made; 
i Bleeding for my Christian nation 

c By the walls of high Belgrade/ 

i Captive! could the brightest jewel 
i From my turban set thee free?' — 

< Lady, no! — the gift were cruel, 
' Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee. 

4 Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee 
1 Christian climes should we behold?'-— 

' Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee 
' Were thy ransom paid in gold!' 

Now in Heav'n's blue expansion 

Rose the midnight star to view, 
When to quit her father's mansion, 

Thrice she wept, and bade adieu! 



288 THE TURKISH LADY. 

* Fly we then, while none discover 1 . 

c Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!' 
Soon at Rhodes the British lover 

Clasp'd his blooming Eastern bride. 






EXILE OF ERIN 



1 here came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin? 

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill: 
Por his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing 

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 

But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, 

For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, 

Where once, in the fire of his youthful e morion, 

He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. 

Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger. 

The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; 

But I have no refuge from famine and danger. 

A home and a country remain not to me. 

Never again, in the green sunny bowers, 

Where my forefathers liv'd, shall I spend the sweet 

hours, 

I Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, 

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh! 
2 B 



290 EXILE OF ERIN. 

Erin my country! though sad and forsaken, 
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; 

But alas! in a far foreign land I awaken, 

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! 

Oh cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me 

In a mansion of peace— where no perils can chase me? 

Never again, shall my brothers embrace me? 
They died to defend me, or live to deplore ! 

Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood? 

Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall? 
Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood? 

And where is the bosom friend^ dearer than all? 
Oh! my sad heart! long abandon'd by pleasure, 
Why did it doat on a fast-fading treasure! 
Tears, like the rain-drop, may fall without measure; 

But rapture and beauty they cannot recal. 

Yet all its sad recollection suppressing, 
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw: 

Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing! 
Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh! 



EXILE OF ERIN. 291 

Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, 
Green be thy fields — sweetest isle of the ocean! 
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion — 
Erin mavournin! — Erin go bragh!* 

* Ireland my darling — Ireland for ever. 



LINES 

Written at the request of the Highland Soeiety in London, when met to 
commemorate the 21st of March, the day of victory in Egypt. 

1 ledge JLo the much lov'd land that gave us birth! 

Invincible romantic Scotia's shore! 
Pledge to the memory of her parted worth! 

And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore! 

And be it deem'd not wrong that name to give, 
In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh! 

Who would not envy such as Moore to live? 
And died he not as heroes wish to die? 

Yes, tho' too soon attaining glory's goal, 

To us his bright career too short was giv'n; 
Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul 
, Rose on the flames of victory to Heav'n! 

How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain 

One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn 

For him! — How oft on far Corunna's plain 
Shall British exiles weep upon his urn! 



LINES ON THE VICTORY IN EGYPT. 293 

Peace to the mighty dead! — our bosom-thanks 
In sprightlier strains the living may inspire! 

Joy to the chiefs that lead old Scotia's ranks, 
Of Roman srarb and more than Roman fire! 



& u 



Triumphant be the thistle still unfurl'd, 

Dear symbol wild! on freedom's hills it grows, 

Where Fingal stemm'd the tyrants of the world, 
And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes. 

Joy to the band* this day on Egypt's coast 
Whose valour tam'd proud France's tricolor, 

And wrench'd the banner from her bravest host, 
Baptiz'd Invincible in Austria's gore! 

Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand, 

When bayonet to bayonet oppos'd, 
First of Britannia's hosts her Highland band 

Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost clos'd! 

Is there a son of generous England here 
Or fervid Erin? — he with us shall join, 

To pray that in eternal union dear, 

The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine! 

* The 42d Regiment. 



294 LINES ON THE VICTORY IN EGYPT. 

Types of a race who shall th* invader scorn, 
As rocks resist the billows round their shore, 

Types of a race who shall to time unborn 
Their country leave unconquer'd as of yore! 






LINES 

WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE, 

At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, 

I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood, 
Gn the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower, 

Where the home of my forefathers stood. 
All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode, 

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree; 
And travelled by few is the grass-covered road, 
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode 

To his hills that encircle the sea. 

Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, 

By the dial-stone aged and green, 
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 

To mark where a garden had been. 
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, 

All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew, 
From each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace; 
For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the 
place, 

Where the flower of my forefathers grew. 



296 ON A SCENE IN ARGYLLSHIRE. 

Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all 

That remains in this desolate heart! 
The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall; 

But patience shall never depart! 
Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and 
bright, 

In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd, 
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, 
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night, 

And leave but a desert behind. 

Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns 

When the faint and the feeble deplore; 
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems 

A thousand wild waves on the shore! 
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain? 

IMay thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate! 
Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain 
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again; 

To bear is to conquer our fate. 



THE END. 









k 



f ORIGINAL. 

THE HOME OF MY HEART. 

BY C H WATERMAN. 

EriDj dear Erin, my sad heart is swelling, 

And fast down my cheeks roll the hot scalding tears ; 
For my footstep is hush'd in the halls of my dwelling, 

And the life of my bosom is banish'd for years. 
No longer I hear the glad songs of thy daughters, 

Whose soft, thrilling voices a joy ance impart ; 
No longer I rove by the bright swelling waters 

Of Erin, dear Erin, the home of my heart. 
9tot ar from thy shores, in the land of the stranger, 

Where grows the tall pine, in itfc beauty and pride ; 
Where the grasp of affection is firmest in danger, 

And stouter the heart that in sorrow is tried. 
There, there, kindly welcomes and gentle caressings 

Have taken the bitterest sting from the smart, 
And my fond, thankful bosom is pouring its blessings 

On them and dear Erin, the home of my heart. 
The voice of the streamlet that greets me at morning, 

Has the same gentle tone that thine own streamlet 
sings ; 
And the blended wild blossoms the mountains adorning, 

Thine own jewell'd sod to my memory brings. 
Oh ! Erin, dear Erin, an angel is keeping 

Its watch o'er thy welfare— and tho' the tears #tart, 
Its bright wings shall brush the sad drops I am weeping 

For Erin, dear Erin, the home of my heart. 



LBAg?9 









Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
(724) 779-2111 








EfifiNHH ' AV^r 'ShSBS 







Ml -V.V r*Vf«/.v « 



